Best Laid Plans
by IanDonyer -ChrisAvrich
Summary: "The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray." Heh. Hey, name's Chris Avrich, and my life is summarized by that quote alone. Follow along as I battle my way through Johto: against normal trainers, gym leaders, and murderers. Welcome aboard.
1. Wake up in the mornin' feel: OH GOD NO

**best laid plans**

_Yo, name's Chris. Chris Avrich. I'm a fourteen year old boy who's relatively normal: I like to watch TV, play with friends, play video games, and watch movies._

_I once heard the following quote in one of said movies:  
"The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray"._

_Heh. I passed it off once I heard it: little did I know just how well that quote would soon fit my life.  
_

The brown haired man placed a hand against the bald spot just above his forehead, letting loose a small sigh. "Joseph, I appreciate your enthusiasm, I really do, but can you please call me back later? I'm in the middle of some important research."  
Joseph spoke in an excited tone of voice. "But, Elm, this is worth it. Trust me."

"... Just get it over with," Elm muttered.

"It's real this time. A sonogram showed life inside: and nothing we have ever seen before."

"Are you sure?" Elm asked. "Perhaps you just didn't recognize the Pokemon. It's not like we can all know every Pokemon off of memory."

"Elm, trust me. I looked at all six hundred and fifteen species: it took me a while, yes, but I can positively identify that this is not a known Pokemon!"

"Then I'll send someone over for it. I'll make the phone call in a moment: but I've got to go to do it. I'll speak more about this later, Joseph. Bye."

Elm sighed, and put the phone into the receiver without bothering to give Joseph a chance to respond. He then picked it back up and began to dial the number of the Avrich house.

* * *

"Mommm..." the boy whispered, gently batting at the arm that shook him. "I-... I dun wanna go 'ta school today. I wanna stay home 'n' bake cookies with youuuuu... ZzZz..."

The shaking gradually got more violent, until Christopher Avrich rolled over and slipped his legs out of the bed, hitting the ground with a soft and lazy thud.

"We can bake cookies later, dear," his mother said, her tone one echoing obvious annoyance. "When Professor Elm isn't asking for you."

"Elm's askin' fer me?" Chris asked, suddenly waking up a bit. It was an oddity. Sure, he usually accepted Chris when he went over to volunteer as a lab assistant, but never had he been summoned there. He sighed and stretched, letting a loud yawn loose.

"Yes," his mother said. "Now, get dressed and hurry over there. He said it was somewhat urgent."

Chris nodded slowly. "Then it might help if ya leave the room, 'cuz I sure as hell ain't getting undressed with you watchin', _mom._"

His mother nodded, glaring daggers at him. He grinned in response.

* * *

Elm examined his notes one more time, from the title down:

**Geology of Tohjo Falls: Possible 'Evolution Hotspot'?**

_The recent discovery of a mysterious energy in Tohjo Falls has lead researchers to believe that Tohjo Falls may be a spot where Pokemon will have a boosted evolution process: some earlier, some outside their normal methods..._

It was then he heard the knock on his door, a light rap. He nodded toward Ian, who looked up from his own papers toward the door.  
"Answer it, it's probably Chris," he said.

Ian, the faithful lab assistant he was, nodded back and set down his papers, before walking toward the door.

Elm looked back down at the notes, and examined a few more lines, before a familiar voice rang through his ears. He grinned, set down the small stack of paper, and walked toward the lab's entrance, hands in his pockets.

"It's nice to see you, Chris," Elm said.

The boy was dressed in his usual attire: not much different from what Elm expected, otherwise he would have informed his mother on the phone to make him wear it anyway. He was not dressed for business, but this was good - because although this was official business, business wear on a trip like the one Chris would (hopefully) be taking, would mean extreme inconvenience.

Chris slipped a hand beneath the rim of his hat, black with an orange arch-shape on the front, and flipped it around on his head so he could see better. He slid that hand back into the pocket of his red hoody, and nodded toward Professor Elm.

"Yo, Elm! What's up?"

"I see you're energetic this morning," Elm said.

Chris allowed himself a grin and nodded. "Surprisingly so, considering I'm up at nine-thirty A.M."

"You don't get up as early usually?" Elm asked.

"Nope. Usually asleep 'till a nice, healthy... say, one or two o'clock."

Elm sighed, allowing his palm to slap against his face and slide on down, as if the friction of the action would erase all his woes. "You know, it's not healthy for a growing body- heck, it's not healthy for ANY body to get out of the natural human cycle. We are not nocturnal, Chris - we sleep through the night and wake up in the morning."

Chris's grin disappeared, and he closed his eyes, shaking his head.

"I didn't come here to be lectured, Professor," he said. "Let's get to the pointttt..."

Elm nodded. "Fine, fine, we'll discuss your sleeping habits later. First, follow me."

The two of them headed to the back of the lab, where Elm stopped the two of them in front of a computer. He clicked around a bit, typed in a few commands, and then pressed a single key dramatically. He turned around, hiding the computer from sight.

"Alright, Chris. First thing's first," he said. "You know I've never -asked- for you to come here. But I need a favor from you. It's not urgent, but I feel like it'd be best to get it over and done with."

Chris nodded. "Alright?"

"I have an acquaintance north of Cherrygrove City named Joseph Estar. Of course, he prefers to be known in the world of business as 'Mr. Pokemon'."

"Whoa, Mr. Pokemon? Isn't he like, the second most eccentric researcher out there?" Chris asked.

"... And who's the most eccentric?" Elm retorted.

"Pretty sure it's Professor Birch of Hoenn."

"... Oh, I thought you were going to call me-"

"You?" Chris said, practically biting his tongue to stifle a laugh. "You're boring."

Elm flushed a deep red. "... S-shut up, Chris, let's keep going. Joseph discovered an egg he claims to be an unknown Pokemon.  
He wants the Elm Laboratory to come down and retrieve it."

Chris nodded in understading. "Sounds pretty interesting: but unknown? Is he sure?"

"He sounds sure," Elm responded. "But I feel like it's probably a misunderstanding. Which is why, no offense meant to you, I want you to be the one to go and do it so my understaffed lab - consisting of a grand total of two people, excluding the occasional volunteer - doesn't waste time and resources."

Chris's face flushed a deep red. He was worrying almost immediately, Elm could tell, and thus stepped aside to reveal what now sat on his computer desk.

"I can read you like a book, Chris," Elm said with a grin. "I know you're worried about safety, since you don't have your own Pokemon. That's why one of these can be yours."

Chris stood, jaw about to crash through the floor.

"Take your pick. These are all, interestingly enough, gifts from Professor Birch of Hoenn except for one of them. Apparently a trainer who he supported gave them to him."

On the desk, there were three Pokeballs.

Professor Elm picked up the Pokeball in the middle. "First of all, let me introduce you to the one that's native of Johto... well, the entire Indigo Country, but you know." The Professor pressed his thumb against a silver, metallic button in the center of the ball. It puffed into a bigger size in his hand, then burst open. He had to keep a firm grip on the ball in order to prevent dropping it.

A blast of white light burst out from the ball, and materialized into a small pink Pokemon, quadripedal with a tail waving around behind it. Its tail was tipped in white, while its muzzle was a creamy tan.

"This here is Slowpoke: Referred to by many as 'the dopey Pokemon'. It's a little dopey, yes, but it's a lot more skilled in battle than most people think. It does not feel pain for a long while after an injury, and this can be an advantageous thing. A good partner for protection, but not the best company in the world."

Elm turned around and picked up the Pokeball to the right. "Here's our second, located here in Johto as well but is actually quite findable in Hoenn due to a recent discovery - hence why I didn't say it's a native... we actually don't know where they originated from, now. Birch's supported trainer found them, and caught a few: this here is a baby, so be careful not to make any sudden movements, otherwise you'll frighten it."

He pressed the release switch, and the flash of light occured, materializing into a Pokemon that he was sure Chris recognized, as they were often used as a villain's Pokemon in horror movies (though it was a common misconception: if treated right, these little guys were loyal).

It was small as well, with black fur clinging tightly to its skin. A bit of protective cartilage over its head looked like a skull mask, and two stripes of cartilage on its back were also present. Its belly and muzzle lacked its fur, revealing its real skin color: a light, golden brown.

"This here is called a Houndour. They are commonly seen as evil, and while they can be dangerous, they are very loyal if domesticated and would not hurt a fly unless told to by the person they trust. It's called the 'Dark Pokemon', and as I just said, it's a misconception. It conveys its feeling using different cries: some people have actually managed to interpret these, and basically be able to communicate with their Houndour."

Elm turned around and picked up the last Pokeball on the desk. "And, finally, your last choice is the one that isn't found in Johto or Kanto, and very rarely even in Sinnoh. It's a Pokemon sent to me for later study, but I suppose I can just ask for another to be sent if you pick it."

He pressed the release switch, the flash of light occured, and the light materialized into a Pokemon shaped into half an orb. It was a light shade of yellow, with green dots scattered across it skin. It walked forward and sat next to the other two Pokemon, momentarily revealing a green underside.

"This one," Elm proclaimed. "Is called Shroomish. They live in damp, dark forests, hence why they're not here in Johto. If it senses danger, it scatters spores from the top of its head, a multitude of types that can cause a multitude of problems: such as poisoning, paralysis, and unconsciousness. Poisoning is the most painful..."

Elm recalled the time he got an accidental inhalation of Shroomish poison spores. He was in bed for a week, and took another week to recover, all of it spent in total misery.

"So, Chris - What's your pick?"

Chris stood there for quite a few moments in utter silence. Elm saw his eyes darting from Pokemon to Pokemon, examining each carefully.

* * *

Meanwhile, just outside the lab, unknown to Elm, Chris or Ian, a pair of eyes was watching them. They were a bright blue, but despite the traditionally soothing color, they had an odd malice to their feel. These eyes were joined by a second pair, these as black as night itself.

"Sneasel," the boy said. "I suppose we'll be taking one of those Pokemon, too."

The Pokemon nodded, the red feather adorned on its head shaking a slight bit.

* * *

Chris was oddly excited at the moment. He hadn't even gotten the permission he knew was necessary from his mother, but his mind ran wild with the thoughts of a traditional Pokemon adventure. With a bit of impulsiveness, his hand extended, finger pointing to the Pokemon the far left: the half-orb, dotted with green. Shroomish.

"Shroomish?" Elm said. "Excellent choice, Chris."

Chris suddenly reached up, catching the Pokeball thrown to him. A flash of red light occurred, follow shortly by another, and the other two Pokemon disappeared.

Chris didn't return Shroomish, however. Instead, he knelt down and motioned for the Pokemon to come toward him.

"Is it a guy or a gal, Elm?" he asked.

"A female," Elm responded.

"Right... well, I'll call ya Bosca, girl."

Elm seemed a bit surprised. "Advanced vocabulary for a fourteen year old," he said, speaking of the name's origin (boscage, a thicket of trees).

Chris shrugged. "I heard it in a movie once."

This seemed to satisfy Elm as well as the nickname seemed to satisfy the Pokemon; Bosca walked over to Chris and stared up at him expectantly. Chris extended a hand, gently stroking the Mushroom Pokemon, eliciting a satisfied look from her.

Chris nodded dutifully. "You and me, Bosca - we'll become the best of pals, okay?"

"...mish," Bosca replied timidly.

Chris stood up and faced Elm. "Well then, is there anything else, Professor? 'cuz I'm sure as hell ready to go."

* * *

**So, guys. Let me warn you now. The updates to this story will be few and far apart: it's my third project currently going on. I'm only writing this at the moment at all in order to be able to write and hopefully rid myself of the horrible case of writer's block I'm currently going through for my other stories.**

**A bit of background information on this story: I've done it before. It was my second piece of written fiction submitted anywhere (I once did a fanfiction based off an online game I played). I'm revising it, and plan to complete it sometime this year (I made it to eight chapters before).**

**Enjoy.  
**


	2. Happy comes in many forms: Wish I had 1

**best laid plans  


* * *

  
**

_The beginnings of all stories turned bad are good natured, right? The typical "Wake up in the Morning feelin' like the world's at my bidding" scene, where the main character is giddy, happy to be where they are: and then just like as if nothing good ever existed, the main character's world is screwed into pieces at the whim of a few seconds time._

_I'm glad death didn't visit me on that day. Very glad that I didn't meet him, and have my life taken from me by his gleaming scythe. I was happy._

_God, I miss that word. "Happy"._

* * *

Christopher Avrich allowed the small Pokemon to ride on his shoulders and walked out the door, nodding to Elm. "I'll be back in about an hour, okay? I need to go pack some stuff.

Chris was excited beyond belief as he walked down the street toward his home. He would soon be out on an adventure, just like all the famous Pokemon Trainers out there did once in their lives: it was an unspoken requirement of greatness that one must have had a Pokemon Journey. Or at least that's what all the good movies said, and how could they be wrong?

"Bosca, gal, how do ya like the sunlight? I know ya like dark places, but it's pretty nice out here too, ain't it?" Chris asked.

"...mish! Shroomish," Bosca replied, her tone filled with anxiety.

Chris frowned then. He supposed she would get used to it after some time.

He reached the door of his home, twisted the knob and walked in.

"And this is my house! We won't be stayin' here long, of course, but I figure ya may as well get a good look at it while we're here."

Chris stopped for a moment, allowing Bosca to take in the drab, brown scenery: and as he did so, his mother approached him, an eyebrow cocked, a dish sponge in hand.

"'s that a Pokemon, Chris?" she asked. "Never seen one like it..."

"Yep," Chris said, nodding slowly. "Her name's Bosca. She's a Shroomish, from the Hoenn Region."

"Hoenn? How'd it get here then?" His mother was obviously a bit skeptical.

"Professor Elm's friends with Hoenn's Professor Birch," Chris responded. "And he sent this little gal here for some research."

"... You didn't -steal- it, did you, Chris?" she asked. He could sense the doubt in her eyes, boring into him like a drill into the ground, searching for the oily truth.

"He gave it to me, mom," Chris said. "We need 'ta sit down 'n' talk."

The two of them walked over to a kitchen table after his mother set down the dish sponge, Bosca leaping off Chris's shoulder and sitting down on the table. It seemed slightly more comfortable on wood than the fabric of Chris's hoodie.

"... and that's how Bosca came 'ta be mine, and why I'll be gone for 'bout... a week or so," Chris said.

"... Eh. It's nerve wracking for me, Chris," his mother said. "You're my baby, and you're leaving New Bark for the first time... isn't Ian going along with you?"

"No," Chris said, shaking his head. "I told you, they're sendin' me because the two man lab can't afford 'ta lose a man for a week. Elm needs to be there for research, and Ian needs to be there to assist him with it, otherwise they could risk gettin' shut down by the Indigo Association."

His mother sighed and shut her eyes, nodding slowly. "... Go on and pack," she said. "But let me know before you leave, okay?"

Chris reached into a pocket and pulled out a small device: rectangular and yellow, with an gray indent in the center, buttons placed all around it. A Pokegear.

"I'll call you every day, 'kay? C'mon, Bosca, let's go pack."

Chris scooted backward in his chair, Bosca making a leap toward his shoulder...

... and missing, hitting the floor with a soft thud.

"...mmiiisssshhhh..." Bosca groaned.

Chris believed that she was seeing stars. Sighing himself, he knelt down and picked her up in his arms, holding her close to him while she recovered. They then bounded up the staircase, heading to Chris's room.

* * *

_It was dark, only the light of shoddily installed lights on the cave's roof giving him some sort of visibility. The man sighed. This was an inconvinience he would have to deal with, for now. He couldn't help that fact. _

_He wondered if the boy would be back any time soon. He decided that if he wasn't back within the day, he would send the purple-haired nuiscance out to retrieve him. Really, the only thing the purple-haired nuiscance was good for was his Crobat. And, well, being a nuiscance._

_The boy was the key. He was the leader's boy, but he would toss him aside. The apple fell far from the tree in that case... when the boy had done his work, his usefulness would be outlived. It was only gruntwork anyway, but he didn't seem to realize: in his young age, he imagined the boy felt like a "secret agent", running in to steal "top secret files". _

_The man laughed heartily. _

_The "top secret files" were those things that would assist him in getting out of this dank, depressing place. He worked paperwork out on a shoddily cut wooden desk, no electricity except for the dim lights above him. They would help him conquer, and they would help him retrieve the true leader of the group once again._

_The leader would be pleased. That was all the man ever wanted: he was even sure that the loss of his boy would prove nothing to the leader in light of what the man really did to assist the leader._

_The man grinned, nodded to himself, and got back to work._

_

* * *

_Chris stood outside the Elm Laboratory, gently knocking on the door.

Right now, he waited outside in a new outfit. An outfit he liked, one that he decided would look good for his travels. His only quirk with it was the lack of a hat.

The door opened, and Chris was met with the friendly face of Ian. "Hello, Chris."

"Hey, Ian - back to talk to the Professor for a few minutes," he said. "He's still here, right?"

"Of course!" Ian exclaimed. "He's in the back preparing for a short trip to the Tohjo Falls. Caught him just in time. Oh, nice outfit, by the way..."

"Thanks," Chris said.

He stepped inside and headed toward the back, slinging his yellow backpack off his arms and letting it fall onto the floor next to a bookcase. It hit the ground with a soft thud, a variety of small convinience items rattling aroud upon impact. Chris made a mental note not to do that anymore: he had a few bottles of hand sanitizer in there, and if that broke, it would have been a disaster for his clothes. Plus, the sound startled Bosca.

"Mish!" Bosca exclaimed.

"Sorry, gal," Chris said apologetically. The sound of his voice alerted Elm to his presence, it seemed, as the Professor looked up and nodded.

"Hello, Chris," he said. "What can I do ya for?"

Chris sighed. He didn't want to do this to the poor man, but if he was going to do what he was asked, he would need to. "Mom can't spare any cash. Gonna need to borrow some from you."

Elm stared at him blankly for a few moments and then nodded. "Right. I can spare about a hundred bucks for you. That'll last you the entire trip if you're careful. Will you be?"

"Of course, Professor - Careful is my middle name!"

Elm cocked an eyebrow. "I thought it was Lawrence."

"...Quiet, Professor," Chris muttered.

Elm laughed good naturedly, breaking the tension of the moment in an instant. "Right, right. Well, let me go find my wallet."

Chris stood there and waited patiently, watching Bosca with mild interest as her own eyes darted around, examining the silvery, metal feel of the lab's insides. Finally, the man walked over to him and handed him a small stack of bills, each labeled with a number and a large P in the center.

"A hundred PokeDollars. Be careful with them, Chris," Elm said. He seemed to eye him with such intensity that Chris flinched back.

"...Right. Will do, Professor. Thanks - I'll call you on the VidPhone the moment I get to Cherrygrove, okay?"

"Okay."

Chris turned around and headed for the door, kneeling down to grab his backpack as he passed by the bookshelf he set it down by. Before he left, he was stopped by a voice.

"Wait up a moment, Chris!" Ian called.

Chris turned around and saw the lab assistant running toward him, the tails of his lab coat gently slapping his lower thighs. He stopped, and extended a small rectangular package toward him.

"Here, take these," he said. "These will help you on the trip. They're potions, for if your Shroomish gets hurt."

Chris peered inside, looking at the contents with interest. A small array of bottles was inside, each clear but filled with a strange purple liquid. They were spray bottles. He nodded and took the package, flipping his backpack around and holding it against his stomach, zipping open the top compartment and sliding them in.

"Thanks, Ian," he said, winking. "I'll miss ya. Can't wait to do some studyin' on this egg once I get back."

Ian nodded, grinning. "Indeed. See you later, Chris."

* * *

Ian remained in the lab for a long time that night, past the time when his normal schedule ended.

It was a relatively uneventful time, even with his sudden burst of research vigor. Until about one o'clock in the morning.

Ian stretched and placed a hand over his mouth to cover a yawn, stepping back from the table. The subject, a small red stone with a flame pattern on it, was now inside a protective plastic covering.

"Well, little man," Ian said. "I suppose I'll see what secrets you hold for me tomorrow, perhaps? I can't wait."

He smiled and nodded toward the stone, before moving toward the front of the lab. Once he got there, he took his coat off and hung it on a rack. At that time, he heard a slight thud, and turned around to check out the source.

"Did I set the stone too close to the edge of the table?" he thought aloud. "I'd best go check... it's probably just my mind playing tricks on me, though. It's about one, one thirty, right?"

He was thinking aloud on purpose, sheerly for the purpose of comfort. He heard a second thud, and the light sound of breath.

He froze, and moved his hand toward his belt. "... Professor Elm? Is that you?"

The phone on his belt was detached now, and he flipped it open. "Hello? Who's there? Last chance to identify yourself..."

He felt the phone slip from his hands, an icy chill coming over him. He saw a flash run before his eyes, and a sigh escaped someone's lips. The voice was almost demonic to Ian's ears, with how low it was.

"I thought you were gone," he said. "Shit. Now I get to do the dirty job of witness removal. But first..."

A flash of light suddenly illuminated the area, and Ian saw the red-haired form suddenly appear in front of him. He wore a thin jacket, black as night with a red stripe down the middle. His bottom half was covered by jeans.

And then the figure was blocked by a black and yellow flash, now at his side. He felt sharp metal up against his neck, and the light buzz of a Beedrill's wings: it made sense. He had the barb of a Beedrill up against his neck, prepared to kill him at any moment.

"Let's keep down the casualities. I'll find the Professor and kill him too, assistant. But..."

The red-haired person turned and pointed toward Elm's computer in the back. "...if you get me that Houndour, I'll let him live. Understood, assistant?"

"... U-...understood," Ian stammered.

The red-haired person turned to face him and flashed a grin that echoed, what appeared to be to Ian, a devilish sense of enjoyment from his hostage's fright.

"Now walk forward. Beedrill, careful not to impale him, but make sure you keep close. If he tries to do any funny business, kill him immediately."

Ian slowly walked forward toward the computer. He had no idea what the Professor's password was, but he could at least stall for some time by hacking into the system to get it. Maybe Elm would come by early and be able to call the police.

He placed his hands on the keyboard and began to work.

* * *

At the same time, Christopher Avrich slipped into his sleeping bag, finally losing his adamant will to stay up any later. He supposed it would be best to get on a better sleeping schedule, at least for the week.

He extended a hand toward Bosca, gently stroking the sleeping Shroomish. "Night, gal. Had fun today. Sleep tight."

And, as his head hit the ground, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Ian sighed. He could not stall for any more time: he had gotten the password quick. He entered a few commands, and from a small slot in the side of the computer, a Pokeball popped out.

He heard a thud as the boy's other Pokemon, the black freezing flash, jumped up on the table next to him and grabbed the Pokeball, tossing it back. He assumed toward its trainer.

And then he heard a snicker and the sound of flesh meeting flesh: before he felt a flash of sudden pain as his own flesh was broken, his carotid artery letting loose in a warm, bloody gout. He turned his head just barely, and his world went black, all he saw was a flash of black and red, then a small leaflet hitting the floor. It donned a dark red R.

A flash of horror hit Ian just before his world went dark.

* * *

**Chapter 2! Yay. Hope you guys enjoy it.**


	3. Oh There's some of it

**best laid plans**

_Most famous fictional characters have had a sidekick: Batman had Robin, for instance. Superman had Krypto._

_I had Joey._

_He was a good kid. A light in the world of darkness, a spot of sunshine on an otherwise rainy day._

_It's a shame, really._

Chris trotted happily along the side of Route 29, his mood a good one. One of the best he had been in for a while now, even. The sun shone down upon him, its rays meeting him and shaking his hand; the wind was gentle, a cool, refreshing breeze; and of course, the infamous green-dotted yellow Pokemon called Bosca riding on his shoulder.

"You know, gal, it's a good day for walkin', ain't it?" Chris asked.

Bosca seemed to be getting used to the idea of sunlight. This was a good thing: she would be exposed to it often if Chris were to keep her.

"Mish! Shroom, shroomish," Bosca replied.

"My point exactly!" Chris said, and continued walking along.

The end of his gleeful stroll was to come to an abrupt end, though: for, although he didn't know it, a pair of eyes was observing him from afar.

Professor Elm let loose a sigh as he stood in front of the door of his lab. He had a stack of books under one arm, and his other hand was fumbling through his pockets, looking desperately for the familiar ring of keys.

He felt his hand brush against cold metal in his pocket. He breathed another sigh, this one in relief.

He slipped his keys into the door, turned them and then turned the knob. At that moment, he felt an odd sense of foreboding... and the sudden distraction made him oblivious to the fact that his books were slipping. They hit the ground with a loud thud, pages flapping in the light breeze that rushed through the area.

"Damn it!" he cursed, before kneeling over them and scooping them under his arm again. He pushed his shoulder against the door and walked in.

"Wonder why Ian's not here," he thought aloud. "Usually a lot earlier than me."

He set his books down on a desk next to the doorway, then moved over to the coat rack. Ian's coat was not there.

He walked through the bookcases that seperated his lab into halves, and stared at the scene in front of him with horrified awe.

Speechless, Elm walked over to the nearby phone and pressed in the numbers for the Cherrygrove Police Department, wondering just how to regain his voice.

He didn't know if it was possible.

Chris came to a stop nearby a ledge, and slumped down to the ground. He muttered something about rest to Bosca, who jumped off his shoulder and landed in his lap. He lifted a hand to gently rub her head.

"Nice Pokemon," a voice said. "But mine is better! It's in the top percentage of it's kind!"

Chris looked up to see a boy standing in front of him. He was barely over four feet tall, Chris estimated, and was dressed in blue jean shorts, and a bright yellow shirt. He wore a blue cap perched on his head, hiding what appeared to be (from small bits sticking out) a messy brown head of hair.

"My name's Joey!"

"Yer rather excitable, ain'tcha?" Chris asked. "I'm Chris."

"Of course!" Joey exclaimed.

"...Righty'o, buddy."

"So then," Joey continued. "Wanna battle?"

Chris froze for a moment, thinking of a couple of problems that could arise from this proposition. First of all, he wasn't much of a battler. He had no skill in it whatsoever, even in those dumb computer game simulators. Seconds, could Bosca handle it? She seemed to be relatively young and inexperienced at this whole deal herself.

"Buddy, I just sat down to rest. Can't it wait?" Chris asked.

"Sure," Joey said, before walking over to Chris and plopping down to the ground next to him.

Chris stared at him. If there ever was an odd person, this Joey kid seemed to take the cake.

"Righty'o," Chris muttered again.

Joey thrust his hand down into his pocket and removed an object. It was small, red on the top, white on the bottom, with a silver button in the center; a Pokeball.

He pressed the release switch, and Chris recoiled at the closeness of the flash of light. But once it disappeared, a small purple Pokemon with a curled tail and visible sharp-looking fangs appeared in Joey's lap.

"Rats!" Joey proclaimed proudly. My Rattata. He's real cool, like, in the top percentage of his kind!"

"I hear they ain't that strong," Chris deadpanned.

Which was a mistake.

"That is a common misconception, thank you very much!" Joey bellowed. "Rattata are fierce battlers, able to bite through even the toughest of hides! A Rattata once destroyed a building by eating its support beams!"

"Okay, I gotta admit that's pretty impressive."

"Of course!" Joey said, and Rats chimed in with a light, chirping agreement.

"Well then," Chris said, picking up Bosca and standing up. "I suppose we can battle now, if you really want..."

"Good! I'd never let you go without a battle anyways – not after you insult the wonderful Rats!"

"'ta! Rattt!" Rats agreed.

Chris ignored Joey for a moment, and sat Bosca down onto the ground, where she looked at him expectantly. She was obviously clueless as to what was going on.

"Alright, Bosca, gal. I'm gonna need you to do me a big favor, 'kay?" Chris said.

"...mish?"

"You see that Rattata over there?" Chris asked, pointing toward Rats.

Bosca turned around and looked at Rats for a moment, before turning back to Chris and nodding as best she could without a neck.

"mish. Shrroomish, shroo."

"I want you to fight him. Try and beat him. If you can't, I understand, but please try."

Bosca immediately looked nervous. Chris could sympathize.

"Bosca, gal, I know this is frightening. I'm kinda scared of it myself, and I'm not the one battlin'... just do your best and I'll be proud of you either way, 'kay, girl?"

Bosca slowly nodded, before turning to face the opposing Pokemon.

"Alright! You go first, Joey," Chris offered.

"Okay, Rats! Tackle it! Let's GGGOOO!"

Rats lunged forward, slamming into Bosca with all the force he could muster. The attack hit Bosca hard, sending her onto her back.

But she got up, and she looked very, very angry.

"Mish! Miiishhh!"

Bosca, without the commands of Chris, began to glow a bright shade of green. Rats did the same, and and Chris observed with awe as a small beam of tiny, white particles passed in between them, coating Bosca and sinking into her skin.

"An absorb attack!" Joey gasped.

"...Right! Good job, gal!" Chris said excitedly.

"Rats, Counter it with a Bite!"

Rats nodded, but it was with a bit less energy than he had shown before. He lunged forward though, and sank his teeth into Bosca's side before jumping back.

"...miisshhh!" Bosca cried. A steady ooze of a gray-colored blood seeped from the wound.

"Do...does your Pokemon normally bleed gray?" Joey asked.

"I- I don't know!" Chris stammered. It was incredibly odd. "Oh well though, I guess she's kinda not yer typical Pokemon- Bosca, let's retaliate with a Tackle!"

Bosca leaped forward and slammed herself into Rats. The purple rat Pokemon was sent skidding back a few inches, but smartly took the opportunity of Bosca being so close to sink his fangs into Bosca's skin again.

They were locked together in a struggle.

"Break loose!" Chris exclaimed. His eyes widened, imagining the pain the poor girl must be feeling.

"Stay strong!" Joey cheered. "Don't let it go!"

Oddly enough, Rats let her go.

Rats now lay on the ground, dead asleep. Bosca pulled herself away, and ran over to Chris's side.

Chris slung off his backpack and zipped it open, removing the potion pack given to him by Ian. He slipped out of the syringes and gently slid the needle into one of the holes in her skin from the bite attack, and pushed the top. He watched the purple liquid inside slowly drain out, and then removed the syringe, tossing it aside.

"Good job, gal," he praised. He realized he was beaming.

He had won the battle.

Joey recalled Rats, and walked over to Chris. He looked awestruck, like he had just seen the President of the Pokemon Association walk up to him and tell him that he was a good candidate for his replacement. He stood there, silent for a moment, before slowly extending a hand.

Chris grabbed it and shook it, then kneeled down again and offered his shoulder to Bosca, who happily leaped onto it now that her injuries were gone (excluding the bite hole that hadn't healed because of the syringe's presence in it, but that would heal within days).

"Your Pokemon is within the top percentage of Pokemon," Joey praised. "I have no idea when it did the sleep powder, but it was sneaky! Like a Koga-clan Ninja!"

Chris's beaming continued, and he nodded. "Your Rattata destroys the stereotype."

Joey looked as if he were about to cry. His lower lip began to quiver, and his arms crossed over his chest.

Chris placed a hand on his shoulder. "So, I got a proposition for you – you available for a little travel?"

Joey nodded. "... I- I live in Cherrygrove, but I just recently left on a journey. I'm available whenever- do you want my Pokegear number?"

Chris nodded, and pulled out his Pokegear. The two exchanged numbers. Chris dialed in Joey's, and pressed the device against his ear.

Baffled, Joey did the same.

"Hello?" Chris said.

"... Hi?" Joey responded.

"Oh, Joey! Hey, dude, I got a proposition for ya. I like ya, and I've got some travelin' to do myself. What do ya say we do it together?"

Joey hung up, and extended his hand again.

"Partners?" Chris asked.

They shook.

Joey nodded. "Partners."


	4. And then they come and take it away

**best laid plans**

_To say that the death of a family member can hit somebody hard is a bit of an understatement. I considered Ian my family; I had very few friends in the small town I called home, but he was definitely one of them._

_And there's an odd feeling that comes with learning of murder: at least for me. _

_You want vengeance. And sometimes, you look back and find it ironic just how close you come to it._

_

* * *

_

Chris and Joey walked into the Pokemon Center the next day, Chris with an arm slung around Joey's shoulder.

"Nice mom ya got, kiddo. Amazin' cook," he said.

"I know, right?" Joey responded.

"Shame we're leavin' – SO staying with her on my way baaaack!"

Chris also had to admit, there was another reason he had enjoyed the stay at Joey's home here: his mother was one hell of a looker. He grinned secretly with this knowledge.

"So, anyways, I'd best go on and make my calls."

Bosca was walking happily alongside the two, eyes wandering around the building with interest.

Joey nodded, and the trio walked over to one of the computers offered by the center.

Chris flipped on the power switch and typed in the phone number to his mother, first. Having a tech-savvy mother was an advantage in contact, he thought.

The screen flashed into life, and Chris saw his home in the background.

"Chris!" his mother cried out. "You got to Cherrygrove already?"

"Yep. Time flies when you're havin' fun." Chris grinned goofily, drawing Joey in close to him and pointing to him.

"Ah! I got'cha. Who's your friend?" she asked.

Joey pulled off his hat, nodding toward the woman on the screen. "Joey Collins, ma'am."

"Elizabeth Avrich," she said.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Joey responded.

"So, mom – how're things back home?"

"Nice, as usual. Pretty quiet... though I told Miss Mumper about Bosca, and her daughter wants to see. I imagine you'll be hounded when you get home."

"Oh, joy. Thanks, mom."

"Speaking of which, how is she?"

Chris leaned over for a moment and picked up Bosca, hugging her close to his chest.

Bosca narrowed her eyes, glaring at the screen. "Mish."

"Mish, Shroo, shroomish!" his mother said in response.

"Shroomish!" Bosca's eye twitched.

"Mish, mish!" Elizabeth Avrich continued

"Shroomish, shroo!" Bosca exclaimed.

"Mish, shroomish, shroomish, shroo!"

"Calm down, mom," Chris said, grinning from ear to ear. "I think you just insulted Bosca's mother."

"Mish, shroo!" Bosca cried, and slammed her face into the computer screen. She went limp in Chris's arms, and the screen seemed uneffected.

"Right. Sorry, Bosca!" she said. "I just wanted to speak in your language."

"...Mmmmiiiishhhh..."

Chris gently stroked Bosca's head, ignoring the fact that Joey had broken down laughing beside them. "Anyways, mom, I've got to call Professor Elm. It was nice talkin' to ya! I'll call ya when I come back 'round here."

His mother nodded, pressing her fingers against the computer screen. "I miss ya already, kiddo. I'd better see you soon..."

Chris kept one hand hugged around Bosca, while he gave a thumbs up with the other. "You bet'cha."

And with a small string of key commands, the screen went blank.

"Odd mom you've got there," Joey noted, his breathe still short.

"Thank ya." Chris winked, and began to type in the number for the Elm Laboratory.

The call almost went to a voice message, Chris estimated, but a face popped up on the screen seconds before. It was an unfamiliar one, one of a gruffness and stoic demeanor signaling an odd jaded personality. He wore a blue policeman's cap perched upon his head, and what was visible of the uniform only confirmed Chris's suspicions.

The man regarded him with a rough glare. He was pressed up against the computer screen as if trying to hide what was showing behind him. Chris heard the sounds of people talking behind him.

"Hello," the man said. "What is your business with this Laboratory?"

"...I'm lookin' for Professor Elm," Chris responded after a moment of pause. "I'm runnin' an errand for him and promised I'd call 'im when I got 'ta Cherrygrove."

"The end of that errand may just come soon. What's your name?"

"Christopher Lawrence Avrich," Chris said. "Elm'll recognize it... where is he?"

The man turned around, now hiding the entire screen with his broad back. Chris, for a few moments, only saw a dark, royal blue and only heard the sound of whispered conversation.

Then Elm popped onto the screen.

He was a ghostly pale, as if he had just witnessed the end of the world. He wore a shaky smile, and stared at Chris silently.

Neither of them spoke for what felt like about three or four minutes.

"Ian's dead, Chris," Elm said finally.

Chris felt a horror like nothing he had ever felt before wash over his being. Blood rushed toward his face, turning them a rosy pink. His muscles tensed, and his hands clenched into fists (Bosca had, by now, leaped down to the floor).

"...H-..." Chris tried to speak, but only got a sound out. He waited for a few seconds, smacked his lips, and tried again. "...H-...how...?"

"He was murdered, Chris. Evidence suggest that it was late last night, so far. His... his throat was cut."

The fists grew tighter.

The officer pulled Elm away from the screen, and Chris heard the sound of a chastisement going on. Elm took it all with a head hung low, he imagined: it was what Elm would do.

Chris was glad, though. He was glad Elm had apparently defied orders to inform him.

"... Goodbye, Professor," Chris murmured, and prepared to hit the computer's off-switch.

"Stop it right now, Mr. Avrich."

It was the voice of the Police Officer. Chris stopped.

"I'm afraid because of what Elm told you, we're going to have to cut your errand short indeed, and have you come back to New Bark. We'll send Police Escorts."

"...It's for the purpose of science!" Chris heard Elm interject. "Let him finish: do it with the escorts if he has to."

The policeman turned around for a moment, and Chris saw his neck move. He turned back around to the screen.

"Fine. Wait where you are Mr. Avrich, we'll be sending two escorts to your location."

Chris shut off the computer, turned around, and headed for the door.

"H-hey!" Joey intervened. He rushed forward, placing a hand on Chris's back.

Chris did not stop. He picked up the pace, in fact. The automatic doors of the Pokemon Center slid open for him. He started running. His feet felt like they were not touching the ground, but instead gliding, gliding so far and so fast that he could never halt to a stop...

Until he ran into the red-haired figure.

It was a massive, forceful collision. Chris felt his head connect with the other person's, and a jolt of pain rushed through his body. The person who he had run took the brunt of the fall, and Chris was thankful for that: but the sensation of a man's shoe driving into your bare thigh was not pleasant. He wished he hadn't worn these god damn shorts. Plus the light blue color of them and his windbreaker didn't help: they would be stained with dirt.

Chris rolled off the person, and examined him as he lay there, recovering from the shock of it all.

It was a boy. Around his age, definitely. The hair topping his head was a bright red, not quite the color of fresh blood but eerily close. He wore a jacket as well, but this one was buttoned up, and a jet black color with a red stripe running down the center. On the right breast was a small, barely noticeable "R" patched in. It looked inexperienced, installed by someone who was a newbie to sewing. His pants were a jet black as well, and his shoes were as red as his hair. On his belt were two Pokeballs.

Not the most original of dressers, to say the least.

Chris leaped to his feet, and so did the red-haired boy. The two of them stared each other down for a moment, before the boy spoke up.

"Watch where you're running, jackass," he mumbled.

Chris felt a sudden compulsion. He grinned from ear to ear, his eyes flashing with excitement.

"You shouldn't have been in my way, ya bastard," Chris retorted.

The boy glared at him. "Excuse me?"

Chris folded his arms over his chest, and nodded. It was rigid enough so that Chris expected it to squeak a bit, like an unoiled door squeaking on its hinges. "You heard me."

The boy nodded in response. "So I did."

"Mish!" Bosca approached Chris out of the crowd, and leaped up and down. Chris kneeled down for a moment, presenting a shoulder for the Shroomish to ride on; she accepted with a happy squeak, and Chris stood back up again.

"Fine. You want to be a jackass?" the boy said. "Fine. By now you've probably figured it out – we're both Pokemon Trainers, aren't we?"

Chris nodded. "Myself better than you," he added, a sense of self-worth thrust into his voice last moment.

The boy scowled. "... -and- so we both know how to battle. I'm gonna wipe that smug grin off your face. Follow me."

Chris nodded again. It wasn't the aggression outlet he had hoped for, but it would work. He would kick this red-haired jackass into the ground, then get out a good cry, maybe, and finally get the hell on with his life. It sounded so perfect.

The two of them traveled for almost fifteen minutes: Joey never showed up. Chris was a bit baffled at this, but otherwise didn't care.

The two of them came to a stop a little north of Cherrygrove's borders. It was an odd spot to choose, Chris mused, but it was isolated. That meant Chris could go all out without worrying on drawing attention (because, at the moment, he was disobeying a direct order from a homicide detective with perfect legal rights to detain him (Chris knew this from a murder-mystery he had watched once on TV) and it would be the last thing he wanted).

"So, guy," the boy said. "I suppose you'd best know the -name- of the person who's going to stomp you, huh? Russo. Adrian Russo."

He was grinning from ear to ear, one Pokeball in hand. It was extended in front of him, hand curled around it.

"Chris Avrich," Chris responded, and nodded toward him once again.

Bosca leaped off his shoulder, and stood in front of him. She chirped her understanding.

The air in the area was tense: it was tangible, so much so that Chris could feel it compacting around him, falling in on him and making it hard to stand under the pressure.

"Adrian Russo, huh," Chris said. "Italian?"

Adrian nodded.

"Shit." Chris let the word slip out, masking it as a cocky denial of what he was really thinking. "The movies paint Italians as mobsters. Real tough guys, badasses. Glad to see they're wrong."

Adrian scoffed. "We'll see about that! Go, Sneasel!"

In a bright flash of light, a weasel-like creature appeared, black fur hanging tightly onto his skin. He had normal-sized eyes, but the pupils were a beady black. HE had no fingers, so to speak: instead, his fingers were razor looking claws. On his head was a single red feather, about two or three inches long.

Adrian let his hand fell back down to his side, hooking the Pokeball back onto its belt.

"Tagliate a dadi e il fungo," Adrian said.

Chris looked at the boy like he was growing lobsters out of his ears.

Sneasel seemed to understand the odd language though, as he zipped forward. The only thing Chris could see was a black flash, before the Pokemon was in front of Bosca. He extended a single clawed hand, and swiped it across Bosca's face.

Skin broke, and an ugly purple blood began to ooze from the three raking wounds immediately.

"Bosca!" Chris cried.

Bosca took it all with a grimace. Chris nodded slowly: she was willing to take the pain, it seemed.

So he would take full advantage of that fact.

"Bosca! C'mon in with... well, what you can do!" Chris said. He would have to trust Bosca for this... he had no idea what she could do other than Absorb or Tackle, and he had the distinct feeling that neither would be that effective.

Adrian let an amused grin cross his lips at this, a light, breathy laugh escaping him.

Bosca fell flat on her face.

Chris scowled, until he noticed the faint shifting of Bosca's body. It was up and down, as if she were rubbing against the soil. He shut his eyes, anger pulsating throughout him.

"C'mon, gal, I said do -something-! Stop being all lovey-dovey to the fuckin' ground!"

He hated himself for using such strong language on Bosca: he did it all the time by himself, but to use such words on a friend was almost blasphemic to his young mind.

Bosca continued to do this, as if ignoring him, taunting him.

Chris stomped the ground forcefully.

"C'MON, YA WORTHLESS MUSHROOM, DON'T BE LAZY!"

A strangled sound came out of Bosca: it wasn't anything Chris could understand, but it was muffled, like someone speaking with their mouth full.

Chris stomped the ground again, fuming.

Adrian looked at this scene as if it were the most amusing thing he had ever seen. "A better trainer than me, huh? You can't even get your own Pokemon to listen to you! This is priceless!"

Sneasel chirped in his agreement, nodding his head.

"Alright! Cerchiamo di congelare i funghi questa volta, amico. Eseguire un vento gelido!"

Sneasel opened up his mouth and blew outward: the breathe was visible in the suddenly frigid air. It floated toward Bosca slowly, but it seemed to literally freeze everything in its path, chunks of ice from the water in the air falling to the ground and snapping.

Bosca leaped up to her feet and opened her mouth, a barrage of purple and brown pellets firing from her mouth at amazing speed. They froze in the air as they traveled, but only slowed down- a few hit the ground and exploded into whiteish purple pieces, but the majority of them pelted Sneasel and exploded there.

Sneasel was now covered in cuts from ice shards, each one infected with a purple liquid.

Adrian gaped.

Chris threw a fist into the air, immediately feeling guilty for badmouthing Bosca, but finding the sudden redemption an almost euphoric sensation. He loved the look of awe on Adrian's face.

Sneasel stood there, shuddering. He had lost control of the energy sent into the wind, and it suddenly seemed to die out just before hitting Bosca.

But Bosca was shuddering as well. Chris could see traces of purple trickling from her mouth... she had swallowed her own blood. His eyes widened.

The two Pokemon were poisoned, but Adrian had the advantage of being able to switch out.

But he didn't. He returned Sneasel without so much as a word, but the scowl almost made Chris laugh. He looked exactly like your stereotypical movie villain, and Chris could imagine him twirling a mustache, or pounding a table in rage-

"MISSSHHH!"

Chris's heart stopped. His suspicions were right – Bosca had indeed been poisoned. Her blood seemed to have some sort of effect to it where it contained toxins to cause ailments if ingested. He remembered what Elm had said about Shroomish poisoning, and quickly ran over to Bosca, picking her up and hugging her close to his chest.

"Si perde? Inutile! Hahaha!"

He could feel her shuddering. He felt worthless at that moment. He forgot all about Adrian, he didn't even remember his anger and sadness on the subject of Ian's death: he turned around and began to fly.

He ignored the pain growing in his legs. He deserved it in his mind. He deserved it for making this poor little girl suffer, even if she had done it out of her own will: she had done the combination of techniques because he had wanted to win some battle. A battle that wasn't even supposed to happen.

His chest burned, and his lungs were about to explode. But he didn't care. He turned a corner, and narrowly dodged an oncoming person.

He slipped into the Cherrygrove Pokemon Center's doors, and pushed past a line at the desk. His eyes were wide, and he couldn't bring himself to speak, only pointing to the purple ooze from the corner of the by-now-writhing-Shroomish's mouth.

The nurse offered a kind smile. "...Poor Pokemon. Relax, child. We have antidotes – they heal poison in any Pokemon quickly."

The man in the front of the line placed a hand on Chris's shoulder. "I understand. It's scary to have your first poisoning, isn't it?"

Chris heard the sounds of Joey's voice calling out to him from across the room, and the sound of more firm footsteps coming up – probably the Police Escorts promised – but he didn't care. He fell into the arms of the kind, older man and allowed himself to break down and cry.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **My Italian is not perfect. In fact, I know none. The Italian in this chapter is done through Google Translate. If you know Italian and can help me make these phrases more accurate (as I doubt Google Translate does it perfectly), please don't hesitate to speak up! I'd appreciate the help.

Also, at the end of any chapter in which foreign languages are spoken, translation will be provided at the end.

**TRANSLATIONS**

_Adrian Russo's Lines:_

"Tagliate a dadi e il fungo," means, "Slice and dice the mushroom".

"Cerchiamo di congelare i funghi questa volta, amico. Eseguire un vento gelido!" means, "Let us freeze the mushroom this time, friend. Perform an icy wind!".

"Si perde? Inutile! Hahaha!" means, "You forfeit? Worthless! Hahaha!"


	5. So the days go on

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As of the time of writing, I have no net access, so I can't provide any links, but I can't go without saying: "Born to Run" is a song by Bruce Springsteen, and his wonderful E-Street band. Give 'em a listen.

And please don't sue me, certain news networks.

* * *

**best laid plans**

_Sometimes there are no words. No clever quotes to neatly sum up what's happened that day... sometimes the day... just... ends._

_- Aaron Hotchner (AKA Thomas Gibson- actor on Criminal Minds)_

* * *

Adrian Russo stepped up to the desk, extending a single gloved hand with papers clenched inside. The man behind the desk offered him a wicked, pleased smile.

"These papers are more important than you think, Adrian," the man said. "I understand you're frustrated with the gruntwork. But with getting these for me, we have already taken a large step toward finding your father." The man took the papers, and set them down on the desk. He looked back up at Adrian, eyes gleaming with expectance.

"Bullshit," Adrian thought. He shut his eyes, drew in a deep breath and tried to keep his cool. His hands slid down into his pockets, and his feet shifted to stabilize his position.

The man grew impatient, Adrian could see. Good. He was glad to see that the man's irritability was shining through now; he could manipulate it.

"Adrian, with these papers, we can study and possibly find the rumored 'Evolution Hotspot' in Tohjo Falls. With that in mind, we can grow to a more powerful position - and in power, your father is bound to come back to us."

"Okay?" Adrian said. "My father was a weak man. He shouldn't come back unless he can, you know, handle a ten year old kid. I know you think the same thing, Archer. Are you sure you don't just mean to take the power all to yourself, Mr. Loyalist?" Adrian snickered.

"You understand little, Adrian," Archer murmured. "You're still a child yourself. You do not know everything about the world."

Adrian turned around, and moved toward the door. "But I sure as hell know enough about you." He heard the angry exhale of Archer, and he smiled widely. He slid the door against the rocky floor of this cave-base, shutting it, and prepared to head toward his barracks.

* * *

Christopher Avrich approached the door of the small home, his eyes focused on the ground. On his left, Joey stood, his arms folded over his chest, eyeing the men standing just a little farther left. They were the police escorts they had been promised, staring at them with their stern eyes.

"Are we going to stand here all day, or are we going to knock, Mr. Avrich?" one of them asked.

Chris threw a simple, but annoyed glance at the one who spoke. He recognized from his outstanding mental database of movies that these guys were beat cops; the newbies. Their uniforms were the main giveaway, but he could also tell from their stern but obviously forced tone of voice that they were excited; feeling big solely because they were working alongside the big, bad homicide detectives, evne if it was a menial job like escorting two kids on an errand. Chris reached up and gently knocked on the door.

He heard the sound of creaky, swift footsteps. A voice called out something, but it was muffled, both by the barrier of the door and by some other thing Chris didn't recognize. The door swung open, and his sight was met with a rather short man. His brown suit was smeared with a red substance, the same thing that covered his face.

"Mmph, howph camphi hamph phoo, offipherph?"

Chris blinked.

One of the officers, however, piped up. He apparently understood the man perfectly.

"Please swallow your food, sir," he started. "And it's not us - these children are from Elm Laboratories?"

The man's eyes lit up, and he chewed his food, swallowing it with a thick sounding gulp.

"Oh, my! So sorry. You see, I was eating my favorite spaghetti when you arrived, and..."

"Don't worry 'bout it," Chris said. "I'm Chris. Chris Avrich."

The man extended his right hand and Chris grabbed it. They had a quick, firm handshake. "My name is Joseph Estar. I trust the Professor has told you my more common name, though?"

"I believe it was Mr. Springsteen?" Chris asked with a grin.

One of the escorts was now humming "Born to Run", and Chris couldn't help it. He broke down laughing.

"I'm assuming that was a smart aleck response?" Joseph asked patiently. He too wore a thin smile upon his lips, but kept eyeing the police officers.

"Aye, aye," Chris said. "Mr. Pokemon."

"Bingo, Ringo!" Joseph said. "Now, care to come on in? I'll fix you some milk, or tea, or water, whatever you prefer."

The officers glanced at each other momentarily, and nodded. So in response to that, Joey and Chris did the same.

"Come on in, then!" Joseph said.

The four of them moved inside, and Chris was awestruck at the lab equipment scattered across the small home. Beakers; test tubes filled with oddly colored liquids; desktop computers; empty cages; and the walls were dotted with small, silky patches, as if hit by a stringshot attack.

And then you got to the kitchen. The kitchen was an absolute mess, scattered with papers, each dotted with their own stains; boxes upon boxes of junk, mostly mechanical parts, but some had old paper plates and cups, and some containing loads of silverware; and somewhere in there, mixed in with the mess, was a kitchen table, a stove, a refrigerator and a sink.

Chris moved toward the table, and everybody else followed, except for Joseph. He approached the refrigerator, turned around and looked toward the four of them.

"What can I get you gentlemen?"

"I'll have a glass of milk, please," Joey said.

"Water," one of the escorts said.

"Tea," the other escort said.

"I ain't thirsty, Joe, but thanks," Chris finished.

Joseph nodded, and began to fix drinks for the four of them who would actually be drinking. He spoke as he prepared.

"So, can I get the names of the rest of you men?" he asked. "If you'd prefer a last-name basis, that's fine with me."

"Officer Bartelby," one of the escorts said.

"Officer August," the other said.

"Joey Collins," Joey responded.

Joseph looked up, and cocked an eyebrow. He slid Joey his glass of milk, and then Officer August his water.

"Any relation to Maya Collins?" he asked.

"Yeah. Cousin."

"Ah. How nice. She's one of CNN's younger journalists, isn't she?"

"Yeah," Joey said. His face was slightly red.

"Who in the world is she?" Chris asked. His curiousity had been admittedly peaked.

Joseph looked at him like he was growing lobsters out of his ears. "Do you watch the news, Mr. Avrich?"

"Pfft," Chris said. "As if. What fun is news? I prefer horror movies. Ya'know, alien invasions, murder-... murder, things like that."

"My young friend, it's crucial to watch the news in today's day and time. Well, I'm assuming you've at least heard of CNN?"

"Cherrygrove News Network, yeah."

"Maya Collins is a journalist who works there. Currently doing an internship, but she's catching and even covering stories faster than anyone else can get their hands on them. She's awfully skilled at what she does, even at her young age. You see her face commonly."

"Impressive," Chris murmured: he could honestly have cared less. It would have been more exciting were she a movie star or a popular rock singer.

Joseph sat his glass down, and slid Officer Bartelby his. The five of them sat in silence for a few moments, before Joseph spoke up again.

"So, officers, can I ask what these young men have done to deserve your company?"

The officers looked at each other for a moment, and shook their heads.

"I'm afraid not, sir," August said.

"Not until we learn more ourselves," Bartelby finished.

Joseph nodded. "Very well, then."

The four of them finished their drinks, and Chris stood up. "Alright, Joe, ol' buddy'a Elm's, let's see this egg."

Joseph stood up swiftly, knocking into one of the many boxes in the room, startling everyone else. He nodded toward Chris, and ran past him. Chris broke into a steady, careful (as to not trip on any of the things on the floor) jog after him. He heard the creaky sounds of everyone else following suit.

Very soon, the five of them ended up standing in front of something Chris hadn't noticed on his way in, mixed in with those empty cages. On a small, pink pad stood a dark brown oval-shaped thing, dotted with red spots.

Joseph handed Chris a flimsy sheet of paper, dark but with a blue spot in the middle. Inside this blue spot, a fuzzy form was visible: it was hunched up, but Chris could tell it was thin, but with ring-shaped extensions around its stomach. A slightly curved line was on its head, one on where Joseph had labelled "wrist".

"This Pokemon," he said. "Is definitely a Pokemon. But it is something we have NEVER seen before. I have meticulously been through a guide, and not even a single of Unova's a hundred and forty two - Unova's Pokemon are unique to Unova, by the way, which is why I'm using it as an example - have descriptions to even match this in the slightest. I want you to handle this thing with care, Mr. Avrich. This thing is potentially a major scientific breakthrough. If it's harmed, I will personally come and wring your neck."

Chris flinched at this threat, and Joseph looked apologetic. But he did not verbally apologize.

"Now, how about you and your Pokemon take a rest before you go? You look tired, and I'm sure if you are, so is your Shroomish."

Chris nodded, but was hesitant to release Bosca. He was afraid that she was mad at him, and he didn't want to face that. Apprehensively, he followed Joseph toward his bedroom.

Joseph nodded and shut the door.

Chris reached down toward his belt, and removed the red and white sphere, moving it in close to his eyes, staring at it intensely.

"Alright," he said, pep-talking himself. "You can do this. Bosca WILL understand."

He pressed his thumb against the release switch, and held it there. He realized he was sweating, deciding whether or not to truly go through with this. He pulled his thumb off, felt the ball expand, watched it fly open and send forth a flash of light, and finally materialized into the yellow, green-dotted Pokemon called Bosca.

Chris felt like slamming his head into the tangible tension he felt. He shut his eyes, and waited to hear the fearful squeak.

But instead came one of happiness.

"Mish!" Bosca cried. She leaped up onto the bed, and nudged up against Chris. Chris lifted a hand and gently stroked her. This elicited a pleased sound from Bosca, and Chris couldn't help but crack a thin smile.

"Hiya, gal," he said. "Kinda missed ya."

"Mish! Shroomish!" Bosca responded.

"You too, huh?" he asked. "Righty'o, then. You feelin' alright, other than missin' me?"

"Mish! Mish?" Bosca asked.

"Glad to hear it: and yeah, I'm doin' just fine too. I was a little worried, though. You recovered just fine, though, it seems - hey, we're here, by the way! Over at Mr. Pokemon's place. We're just gonna get some rest 'fore we go."

"Mish!"

Chris fell back onto the mattress, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. He felt Bosca move in close to his side, and without a moment's hesitation, he allowed himself to drift off into sleep.

The end of his nap came all too soon, though; it felt like just as he closed his eyes, he felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently into consciousness. He flipped over to see who it was: it was Joey, Bosca on the floor next to him.

"Eh, c'mon Joey, five more minutes..." Chris muttered.

"Elm's called. The Police Chief wants us there within two hours. We gotta go, Chris," Joey said.

"Screw thaaatttt- eh, I mean... fine. Let's go."

Chris rolled off the bed, and fell to his knees quite purposefully, providing a shoulder for Bosca to jump onto. She did happily, and the three of them walked outside to the mess of the rest of the home.

* * *

About an hour and a half later, the four people arrived at New Bark Town, and then not even five minutes after that, at the Elm Laboratory.

"Police Cars are useful," Chris mused mentally.

The outside of the lab was hounded, absolutely covered by morbidly curious New Bark residents, and of course, members of Cherrygrove's press. A murder story of quiet New Bark Town, especially in a famous Professor's domain, was too good for them to give up. What confused Chris was the fact that the police had tried to cover it up for now, and yet the press had found out so quick. He guessed that if they had rolled out Ian's body, that had probably done it.

Of course, none of them were being let in. The morons were asking questions of stoic guards, each standing on the side of the door: each refusing to move, much less speak. As their group moved through the crowd, a reporter quickly moved toward them, asking questions.

"Oh, they're letting you through? What makes you guys so special? Care to give a thought, some insight, as to what is going on?"

Chris flipped the man off, and he could see visible anger in his eyes. But he forced a smile.

"What's your name, young man?"

"I suggest you move," Bartelby interrupted. The reporter complied, and they managed to squeeze past.

They entered the lab and shut the door behind them just as quickly as they entered, walking toward the back of the place. Police tape blocked their path, so they simply ducked under it.

What Chris saw at the back filled him with a mixture of anger, sadness and simple horror. The entire area was painted red, a spray of the color having showered papers, computers and the walls. It was dried blood.

They were pulled aside by a man of large stature, looming over them like a building. Chris recognized his face: he was the one who had talked to them in the Pokemon Center, via VidPhone. He sighed audibly, causing Joey to give him glances. In these moments, Chris could see the fear in his eyes: with a child his age seeing this scene, he could understand it.

They stopped in a corner of the office, where a long silver desk had been set up. The three of them took a seat.

"So, boys. Can I get you anything? Water? Milk?"

Both Chris and Joey shook their heads.

"Alright," the officer said. "I know you children understand just what is going. Mr. Ian Donyer was murdered last night in this Laboratory. His throat was slashed, but we can't determine the instrument used just yet. Not even ten minutes after we arrived at the scene, you children called. It is taught to cops like myself: offenders tend to come back to the scene."

Chris slapped his palm against his face. "Don't tell me you think either of us did it?"

"Did you, Mr. Avrich?"

Chris shot the man a glare that could kill a Tyranitar. "Of course not! Ian was a friend. A real good friend. What motive would I have? Do you really think I could do this?"

Joey spoke up, nodding. "If the murder occurred last night, then you can call my mom - Tamara Collins. We were withb her all night long..."

Chris had to resist making a comment on that. He let loose another, formidable sigh.

"Well, my main concern is that you guys could be formidably sneaky," the officer said.

"Do we look like the sneaky types?" Chris asked.

"Things aren't often as they look. I dislike thinking that children like yourselves could perform such a task, but there are certain evidence items that broaden our horizons. August! Bring it out."

Officer August nodded, and moved away for a short time. Within a minute or so, he came back with a plastic bag in hand. All Chris saw inside it was a blank sheet of printing paper.

Then he turned it around.

What was printed on this side was simple, but from the draw of breath Chris heard Joey perform, it was something important. It took him a few moments to recognize it - but he did the same thing.

It was a bright red R.

"...W-what...?" Chris asked.

"Do you not recognize it, Mr. Avrich?" the officer asked.

"...But what do they have to do with this?"

He felt his limbs begin to shake. He was putting the pieces together.

"We assume that this is fake, Mr. Avrich, as Rocket was disbanded over three years ago. But perhaps someone wishes to mimic them - a young group of gangsters who wish to make it big like they did. Would you know anything about this?"

Chris had a feeling. He shut his eyes,

drew in a deep, shaky breath and spoke.

"It's real."

"Excuse me, Mr. Avrich?"

"The murder weh-...weapon... was a Sneasel. The murderer...is... gah, DAMN IT!"

Chris slammed his fist down into the table, and began to breathe heavier.

"...was a boy. My age. Red hair, black jacket. The jacket.. had-... it had an R, just like that, s-sewed onto it. His name is Adrian Russo."

The officer across the table looked at him with eyes that glinted with excitement.

"Like Giovanni Russo, Mr. Avrich?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah."

"I see. And how did you come upon this information?"

"...Deduction. I battled the guy. He had a Sneasel. Those claws look perfect to k-..k..."

"...Kill someone with, Mr. Avrich?"

Chris nodded again. He felt tears of frustration began to rip at him. "Yeah."

"I see. I'll allow you children to have some rest, then. Mr. Avrich, your home is just nearby, isn't it?"

Chris nodded a third time. "Yep. Can we go over there?"

The officer smiled. "Yes. We will have Officer August post guard, though."

Chris sighed. "Good enough. Joey, you ready?"

The boy nodded slowly. Chris could still see some hesitancy in this: but it was understandable.

The two of them got out of their seats, and they, alongside Officer August, headed to the Avrich house.


	6. Good morning world: Name's David

best laid plans

_And a new narrator takes over. Shove your ass out the way, Mister Avrich; seems I'm taking the star's spot in this story. _

_I am the reasoning behind the whole story. His story? Heh. This is mine. Okay, okay, we share it, I admit. But I'm still the most important one._

_Don't believe me?_

_Check it out._

_

* * *

_

Chris got no sleep that night.

It was a given, he figured. He laid his head upon his pillow for the first time at nine o'clock in the evening, closed his eyes and saw the world. He saw it in red, a macabre view of the Earth around him. He saw the man coming in close, jagged knife in hand. Even the horror movie tracks. All in his head, he learned when he opened his eyes next to glance at the clock and see not even one minute had passed.

He lay there like this until three o'clock in the morning. By this point he had given up on the idea of sleep, and had given his night over to his thoughts. He tried to divert them from death, and had relative success. But when he heard a crash downstairs, he immediately picked up Bosca and shook her awake, whispered his concerns to her and let the two of them rush down the stairs. He leaped down the final step and pointed toward the noise's cause, about to cry out a command, when he saw it was simply Joey.

"...Christ, Joey, scare a guy like that," he murmured.

Joey's tired eyes looked apologetic. "Sorry! I just... wanted a glass of water. Dropped the dang thing. Lucky it didn't break..."

At that point, once Joey had gone back up, Chris snuck outside with Bosca.

The night scenery was absolutely stunning. The night sky was clear and aglow with the light of thousands of tiny, dancing stars. They illuminated the lake beside his home. He heard the sounds of buzzing bug Pokemon, scurrying their way through the nighttime before they were forced to go undercover in the light. He sighed, slid down against the wall of his house, and with Bosca, spent the rest of the night simply admiring the view.

* * *

He understood the consequences of it all a bit too well for his tastes. Ignorance is bliss was a policy he had always believed in, and it had been drilled into him at his induction ceremony with little to no trouble.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. I am a grunt, who may or may not rise in the ranks some day: but as a grunt, I am nothing. I have been of little importance and will continue to be of little importance until I make myself such. Ignorance is bliss is a grunt's policy and I accept it with open arms. "

Of course, those words were spoken on a more private day. To the formal world of the Rocket Gang, they had recited some bullshit about how they were proud to be a part of Team Rocket. He recited those words off memory, the day in which he had first spoken them in his head as fresh as if it had happened just the previous day. He smiled with satisfaction, stepping out of the shadow and into the light, staring at the horrified person in front of him.

"I'm sorry," he said. He reached forward, stroking the child's head of burning red hair. "Little Miss. If I could avoid doing this, I would, but it's for the better. Please forgive me in the afterlife. Come down to Hell to visit me some time, okay?"

The man removed the pistol from its holster, placing it against her forehead and pulled the trigger. He heard the sound of the splatter of blood on the wall behind her. He reached down and wiped away the remnants of tears streaming down her cheeks with his gloved hands, then turned.

In the dark, he could barely see himself in the mirror, but he knew the broad R on his shirt was a little more red than normal. He sighed. He would have to change it.

"Ambassador Juniper, your daughter has left the building. Really sucks for you when you mess with Team Rocket." He let loose another sigh, a bit more forceful than the last one. "Really."

* * *

"Mom, I want to travel."

Elizabeth Avrich looked at her son oddly. "Are you sure? With what you've been through, I don't..."

"Mom, I'll be fine. R-...really, you're just worried about letting me go. I see it all the time in the movies. I'll be careful, mom, plus I'll have Joey by my side."

"...Chris, you're talking about Team Rocket here!"

"Red did it!" Chris said.

"You're not Red," his mother argued. "It's a stretch to even call yourself close. I'm not saying you can't be! But right now, you're not even close."

Chris turned around, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "I'm going, mom. That's the end of it."

"Can you at least think it over a little longer, honey? It's dangerous out there!"

Chris continued on his walk to the door, Bosca trotting along beside him. He slipped through the door.

His mother ran up through the door and drew him into an embrace. "...Fine! Stubborn little kid. At least tell me if there's something I can do for you, okay? And call me every day just as soon as you can. I'll track you myself if you forget even once."

Chris smiled and returned the hug. "I'm a bit too scared of the wrath of the infamous mom to forget. Thanks."

* * *

"Of course I should not have to tell you that you did a wonderful job tonight, David. I'm more than pleased with your performance."

"Thank you, Archer, sir!" David said. "It means-"

"It should mean nothing," Archer deadpanned.

David's face went red. He had screwed up. "...Of course not, sir."

Archer smiled his signature, devilish smile. "It means that you are up for a promotion, and quick. Mr. Milwood, it's a shame that I can't simply give it to you. But I can if you perform one more assassination for me."

David nodded. "Anything, sir."

"Giovanni's son, the brat, has recently made the mistake of coming into the sight of a public person. The boy's name, as Adrian says, is Christopher Avrich. He lives in New Bark Town. I'd rather not let them track Adrian in case the boss does come back. Find him and kill him."

David nodded dutifully yet again. "Will do, sir."

Archer let his smile turn into a grin. "Thank you much, David."

"No problem, sir."

**Short Chapter. I know. Sorry for it, but I felt this point as a suspenseful point to end it. :3**


	7. Gastly Experience in the Ghastly Tower

**best laid plans**

_Goddammit, what the hell do you think you're doing? Taking my place? Sheesh._

_Sorry 'bout that, folks. Anyways, if there was one lesson I ever learned about life is that irony's cold glare was your best friend sometimes. Think about that._

**Chapter Seven: **A Gastly Experience through the Ghastly Tower

"**H**ello, dear guest. My name is David Milwood; you've messed with Team Rocket too severely. It's time for you to die."

With his gun loaded, he pressed it to the forehead of the boy and pulled the trigger. He heard the bang, loud and clear, and the last surprised gasp of Christopher Lawrence Avrich Jr., resident of New Bark: fourteen years old, son of Elizabeth Kaitlyn Avrich and Christopher Lawrence Avrich Sr. "Good-bye." He saw the blood mixed with the boy's sweat, his brain matter splattered on the pale wall behind them. He reached forward, wiping his tears away with his thumb.

He smiled slyly. It all seemed too real to him now: he had just blown out the brains of an imaginary boy. Not even the gun had been loaded. But he practiced his hits before they occurred, to make himself more prepared.

Preparedness was what he needed. His job wasn't easy on the psyche; he was smart enough to admit that. He did it for the pay, and for... other reasons. But the pay his predominant reason. It was tremendous for a grunt in the DPS (Down-low Pay System; simply keeping your source of pay on the down-low. To most people it looked as if you were just doing some high-paying job; like a computer technician or some other thing), and he needed the money desperately. He set aside fifteen-percent of each kill's payout: but the rest was spent on food, money and weapons. He did have one Pokemon he needed to feed, and it was a muncher, taking about forty-percent of his money.

But he was satisfied, he supposed. It payed the bills and it gave him his thrills.

He let his smile fade and let loose a sigh. "Now, Noctowl, let's hurry and get back..."

He did have three other Pokemon that didn't need to be fed. He liked those the best: those who could get the job done and get the hell out of his life until they were needed again. He sat on the stool where the imaginary corpse sat, pushing it out of the way and allowing him to relax. Now he simply had to wait.

It took a few days, but after the clearance from the Homicide Detectives and of course, from his mother, Chris was able to reach Violet City alongside Joey. Very little actually occurred on the trip there, except for an encounter with a wild Spinarak: turned out Joey was a sufferer of arachnophobia.

"Alright!" Chris exclaimed, albeit with a bit of hesitance in his voice, "let's see how we do at this place."

"You sure, Chris?" Joey asked. "We just got here... we really don't want to go inside. Maybe get some rest..."

Chris smiled slyly. "You can get some rest, maybe. I'm challenging this place. Me and Bosca will Ace it!"

Joey reached up, wiping the sweat off his brow. "I'll be at the Pokemon Center... I'll reserve a room for two, 'kay?"

"'kay," Chris agreed.

So that was how Chris managed to get into the predicament of being lost inside Violet City's most famous landmark.

It was a tower that was said to be a hundred feet tall. A gross overexaggeration, Chris thought, as he looked at it: it was thirty, forty at max. But oddly enough, if you looked at its old, brown structure close enough, it seemed to sway with the gentle wind that always blew through Violet.

Still, forty feet was a large bit of space to cover. He got no help, either. There were plenty of monks who resided in the tower and knew every square inch of the chewed up wooden place by heart. The rules of the "Sprout Tower Challenge" stated that he couldn't receive help. The only help he could get was "The hearts of him and his Pokemon". Bla, bla. All that Bull Snot.

He only got out because he nearly died.

"C'mon, Bosca. Hop on, you gotta be ten times as tired as I am."

"...Mmmmiiissshhhh..."

He lowered his shoulder, allowing Bosca to hop up. He sighed with discontent, but trucked on. He was met with a bit of a roadblock: a large spider web hanging in between two wooden beams that was the only open path he could find.

"...Here we go," Chris whispered – and shot through the web, his body filling with a sudden burst of anxiety. He nearly toppled over onto the ground but managed to catch his balance at the last moment, his face paling and his skin turning cold as ice. This place had an ominous feeling. He swiped himself out of the remains of webbing, and kept walking forward. Maybe it was just the natural vibe of the place. Wooden, creaky, dark and having the entrance covered in spider web... these were all key horror movie signs of something going terribly wrong.

He drew in a deep breath, then exhaled. He was just being a worry-wart. A nervous-nelly. That type of person was something he had always hated, and he chastised himself mentally for being such a hypocrite. He continued to walk on.

Suddenly, after a few minutes of walking, his foot his a floorboard just as normal. But this one gave a particularly odd sound: Chris thought he heard it hiss. He was paralyzed for a moment, but shrugged it off and continued his walk.

Bosca was shivering. As if her innate Pokemon senses were telling her something. Chris looked at her through his peripheral vision, but didn't say anything. He laughed quietly. Or she could just be cold. It was oddly breezy in here – maybe there was a window closeby! Then he could look out and at least estimate how far up he had gotten, also in-turn giving him a good perspective of where to go next. He sighed with relief, searching around in what was now near pitch-black for some source of light in the distance. As he kept walking, he saw nothing.

He finally spoke. "Hey, gal, did'ja see anything? You alright?"

"Mish... mish, Shroo, shroomish."

"...Really now?" he asked. He could definitely sense fear in her voice. Something was up. Bracing himself, he tilted back his head and screamed as loud as he could (putting one hand over Bosca's closer ear in order to prevent hearing damage to her), "HEY! Whoever is in here, get out of the shadows! I know you're here!"

The only response was a surprised cry from Bosca, and the sound of Rattata scurrying away. He sighed. "Sorry, gal."

"...Mmmiiissshhhh..."

Suddenly, Chris _felt _something pass by him. He knew it was in no way an illusion or a phantom brush. Or perhaps it was the latter. Perhaps this place was haunted? He was in a dark room with no human company at what... nine, ten P.M.? It fit the template for a Haunted House story perfectly. Chris shivered with anxious anticipation.

And he shivered again just seconds after he calmed down when the wet, large tongue lapped his right cheek. He screamed in surprise, jumping aside and toppling to the ground – really, this time. He heard a surprised shriek from Bosca, looking over to find her. He only saw glowing eyes, huge ones, but with pupils about the size of a small bead.

Then it rushed forward. Chris felt it envelope him. He tried to scream but no sound would come out: with his last desperate strength, he slid his arm out, reaching for Bosca, but he only heard a thin thud sound and a rolling tumble as his hand hit fabric. His backpack. He cursed mentally, then his world went black.

"Hello, handsome."

Chris looked at the odd invader of his thoughts, his arms folded over his chest. "Who are you, and why are you in my head?"

This invader stood at the exact same height as him, but with long brown hair down to her shoulders. Her body was of the hour-glass figure, her garb being a plain black dress. Her eyes were small and beady, black pupils staring at him, piercing into the depths of his very soul.

"Because I'm hungry," the girl said. Her hand moved up, revealing a struggling purple and white mass in her hand. She stuck the Rattata in her mouth and chomped down, chewing noisily. Chris flinched, hearing the crunch of its skull in her mouth. She let her tongue out of her mouth, painted a bright red and licking her lips. "You looked tasty." Her lips were now stained as well, leaking onto some of her mouth. She tossed the dead rat aside, and Chris watched it seem to sink into the dark gray floor, creating a small wave of ripples.

The next moment, the girl had disappeared. In her place was a man, taller than him by a long shot, at least three feet: and Chris was five foot six. He stepped back, his eyes wide with horror.

"Time for you to die, Mr. Avrich – you've messed with Team Rocket for long enough!"

He let loose a howl of laughter, making Chris visibly shake. He stepped back, and the man stepped forward. Twice. Each step Chris made backward, the closer the man drew to him, and before long they were so close that their noses could have touched. Had they been of near equal height. The man was a lummox, his broad, calloused hand pulling out a gun from his pocket (Chris was surprised he hadn't noticed it before), and pressed it against Chris's forehead. He pulled the trigger.

Chris felt a sudden jolt of pain shoot through his head, tumbling backward onto the gray, shiny surface of Dreamland (so he called it), sending ripples outward. He opened his eyes and saw that a small flag had burst out of the gun barrel, reading in tiny blue capitals, "BANG!"

The man roared with feminine laughter. He faded back into the image of the girl. "You fear easy," she mused. "This is going to be quite a meal..."

Chris stood up, focused on one thing and one thing only: gettting out of here alive. He shot forward, his hand curled into a firm fist, aiming for it to hit the girl square in the face. But before he even got there, an agonizing pain shot through his arm. He screamed, his face going a bright red, his body convulsing slightly as he hit the ground.

"This is my world you sit in," the girl deadpanned, her eyes narrowing, "this is my world and thus my rules. My rules state that I can't be harmed."

Chris looked up at her spitefully. "Who the hell ARE you?"

"I am everyone, and I am no one. I am the departed."

"You're a ghost?"

"No, I'm a Ghos. Without the T. Also known as some countries," she mused, peeling away part of her face as if it were another part of her routine, revealing a small section of blasting purple gas, "as Gastly."

Suddenly, it made sense to him.

He picked himself up off the ground and ran toward her again. This was still his mind. He was going to push this bitch out of it if it killed him. Which he had the distinct feeling that it probably would.

He slipped his hand forward once again, this time coming within a few inches of her face before another jolt of pain shot up his arm. He ignored it the best he could, continuing to shove himself forward: and he broke through. The punch connected with a thick cracking sound, and Chris watched, awestruck as more pieces of the false face flecked off like pieces of glass from a mirror. More of the purple gaseous substance leaked out, now giving her a bit of a gas cloak.

The cost of this, though, was that his arm was now immobile. He had use of one arm. Shit. This wasn't turning out well, but he was making progress: the only question was how much progress he could make until he couldn't use any of his body parts. What would happen then?

He supposed he would find out. He had nothing to lose. He was going to be eaten if he didn't try to fight, and was probably going to be eaten if he did anyway; a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation. He would rather be damned if he did, than damned if he didn't.

He looked up from the ground with furious eyes. "Now you'd better get out of my goddamn mind before I make you!"

Gastly-Woman cackled madly. "Make me, then, boy! I am infinite! You can't beat me with your weak little mind!"

Christopher Avrich grinned from ear to ear, leaking anxiety out of every pore in his body. "Let's go then, bitch."

"Name calling, young man. Name calling." The Gastly-Woman walked forward calmly, her psychic barrier pushing Chris back a bit. He had made a hole in it from his pushing earlier: he would have to use that, he figured. "I like you. You're a feisty one. I believe you'll be quite the tasty one too!"

Chris dashed toward her, forcing himself to ignore the barrier she had around her and using its hole to his advantage. He picked up his good hand, hoping his hardest to actually find it. It was invisible; there was no sure way. He thrust his palm against one-spot: pain. He screamed, jumping back as she walked closer.

"Play, play, little child, as it will be your last playdate... shall we enjoy it?"

Chris picked himself up out of the daze he was put in, and made another frantic grab for the spot. He felt his hand slip through: good. Now to execute his plan. With a forceful grunt, he tugged his arm diagonally. He hoped that through sheer will and force combined, he could get the spot moved, moving the location of the barrier.

But something even better happened. At the cost of another arm's usage, going numb and limp in by his side, he saw her entire torso break away. She was a floating mass of purple gas now with a human face. Her legs were not attached to her, but instead moving directly on their own. She didn't even seem to notice.

"Trying to break through the barrier is futile," she deadpanned, her mouth still. Chris recognized this to be telepathy.

He brought his leg up, smashing it down through the broken hole. It connected to the leg-space, but passed on through. Shattering of glass could be heard, and now the legs were gone entirely. His leg went numb. With one final gesture, Christopher Avrich grabbed onto the sides of the tangible psychic barrier and gave the face a firm headbutt.

It shattered. The girl let loose a gasp that ended in a,"..astly!", before the world around them began to crumble. Chris caught a piece of the sky hanging from its original place and held it fast, its sharp edge cutting into his now not-numbed hands. He felt blood trickle down his wrist, painting his skin red.

He let go only because a voice told him to. He didn't know why, but he trusted it.

"_Let go, son,_" the voice said. "_Wake! The Gastly has left you – you are a lucky one."_

Christopher Avrich woke up to a world that was made of the word "pain" – he saw it in many different colors. Light pinks, pale blues, bright, blinding reds, and the sheets of white heat. Oh god, the white hot agony that pulsed throughout his body, making him gasp as something was pressed down in his hand.

"Who...are...you..."

"...This is for me to know and you never to know, son," the voice said, and within moments Chris felt himself begin to fade out of consciousness again. He heard the slight chirping of a concerned Bosca... and then nothing.


	8. Day of Bad Luck

**best laid plans**

_It isn't a sin to accept a gift, is it? I didn't know the man, sure: but he had saved my life. In no way could he have wished harm. Even if he did give me the very thing that tried to kill me._

**Chapter Eight: **The Day of Bad Luck

Christopher Avrich woke up in a world of oddity. He no longer felt pain, but instead an odd buzzing sensation in his muscles, making him want to twist and turn to get it out, but he couldn't move to do so. With what little feeling he did have, he felt soft fabric beneath him. Was he home? Warm in his own bed? No.

He knew this from the soft, steady beeps around him, the voices from a short distance and the ever-present realization that his ass was shining through the back of the hospital gown he wore. He grinned tiredly. He knew from the fatigue he felt he couldn't sit up – but he managed to muster up the force to speak. He didn't know if anyone else was in the room with him; his vision was still blurry, probably from a long time of rest. "Hello? Is.. an-anyone there?"

The sound of heavy footsteps across tiled floor. Boots, Chris thought – only those thick things made the click-clack sound he heard. Then a kind voice, filled with a masculine concern. "Hello, son. I'm glad to see you're awake. My name is Dr. Segall, and I'm the one who's gonna be treating you. Can I get your name?"

As his vision cleared, Chris saw a rugged face donned in a white coat, blue polo shirt and khaki pants. Looking downward, he saw thick boots. Damn he was good. "...Chris. Av-"

"Don't concern yourself with the surname at the moment. I'm sure it hurts to speak, doesn't it?"

Chris nodded slowly.

"Then Chris is enough." Segall smiled kindly, his hand moving toward his coat pocket and pulling out a pen while the other moved toward the edge of his bed, pulling out a clipboard. He scribbled down a few things. "You're lucky, Chris. Very lucky. Gastly poisoning can topple Steelix sometimes. You know what that means?" The doctor let his smile increase, though Chris could tell it was faked some. "You've got a spirit tougher than a Steelix. That's truly impressive."

"...Heh."

Chris glanced toward his side and at his nightstand. Two Pokeballs were atop it, along with the clothing he had been wearing.

"You almost died, Chris," Segall continued. "I don't mean to scare you, but-"

"...Bosca," Chris said.

"Excuse me?" Segall asked.

"...Bosca. My Po-...Pokemon..."

"Ah, yes!" Segall exclaimed, obviously just remembering the subject. "Both your Shroomish and your other Pokemon are as fine as frog hair, my friend. They're inside their Pokeballs: do you want me to release them?"

Chris nodded slowly. The fact that he only knew of Bosca slipped his tired mind; he only wanted to see her, make sure she was alright.

The doctor nodded, moving toward the nightstand and picking up both Pokeballs. He released them: with a flash of light, two Pokemon materialized. Bosca cried out in happiness, jumping up onto the bed. "Mishhh!"

"...Goo-...good to see you too, gal," Chris said, laughing weakly.

He looked to see the other Pokemon, his other one- it struck him. He let out a gasp of surprise, ignoring the pain it caused his throat. No way this could happen. He hadn't caught this Pokemon. Yet it was here with him.

The Gastly floated over to him, staring him in the face.

_'Hello, handsome,'_ she said in that familiar feminine voice, piercing his mind.

* * *

The force of nature that interested David Milwood the most was water. Water, he thought, was the driving force of the world; humans and Pokemon alike needed it to survive. There seemed to be infinite amounts of it, and, given time, it could tear down the mightiest of mountains. He thrust his hand down into the river and took it into his skin, cupping his palms together to hold large quantities of it: then he drank, repeating the process until his thirst was quenched. He sighed a sigh of content and sat up, stroking the head of the Pokemon beside him. "Alright, Munchlax. Let's go."

With a simple, hearty yell, the green human-like thing beside David began to waddle forward. David joined him, a smile plastered across his visage.

He recalled the previous night.

_David glanced out the window once again, perhaps at two, three o'clock in the morning. It was a pretty night, the stars shining brightly, the sounds of the dark going full-blast and thus creating a soothing, peaceful melody. It was not abnormal for David to be up this late. On days where his information was being gathered by his sources in the east, well... he was nocturnal, a night owl waiting for news on his tiny little mouse prey. Suddenly, his train of thought was snapped as the familiar chirping hit his ears. He nodded. "Thanks, Noctowl."_

_He grabbed something from the pale brown bird's talons, unrolling the contents. A letter._

_'_HELLO, RECIPIENT

THE INFORMATION YOU ARE LOOKING FOR

IS AVAILABLE_'_

_Beneath this scrawling, broken all-capitals letter was a small profile. A picture of a shaggy haired boy at its side read above it, "CHRISTOPHER LAWRENCE AVRICH JR."_

_He smiled. Here was his prey. The Rocket System had gone haywire recently, sort of downgrading its capabilities: only certain allies had actual pictures of anything. Rocket databases only had information. David needed to identify his prey through looks. Now he could get his last known location._

"_Noctowl, show me on this map..."_

_He pointed to a map on the wall of the Johto region. Then he lifted up the letter, pointing to the picture. "Where you saw this boy."_

_Noctowl was not a stupid bird. He was born of genetics, a Rocket Scientist's project, to have four important qualities: move as fast as a Braviary, as quietly as a Pidove, have the memory of a Donphan, and most important of all, be thorough. He simply jabbed his beak into the section of the map in light purple labeled "VIOLET CITY"._

"_Violet City, eh? Thanks, Noctowl."_

_He set the paper down onto his desk, pulling out a pen from the small container in its corner and marking down something on the letter._

"_DO YOU LIKE ROCK?" a question asked. David scrawled down in messy handwriting, "YES. MY FAVORITE BAND IS AC/DC. ARCHER YOUNG IS A GUITAR GOD."_

_This was a code in the Rocket System to make sure that the recipient of the letter was the person who was supposed to receive it. Rockets and Rockets ONLY knew it – if someone got lucky enough to guess the AC/DC part right AND think their guitarist is a God, they would still be ignorant enough to put "ANGUS" instead of "ARCHER". He rolled the package up and stuck it back through Noctowl's talons. "Thanks. You can go now."_

_Noctowl burst off. Smiling devilishly, he thrust his legs out of his window and slid out onto his roof. Thrill seeker he was, he knew that what he was going to do was dangerous. But he didn't care. If he died, he wouldn't have anything to worry about. If he lived, well, here's to living._

_He slid off the roof and felt himself began to fall. He quickly unhooked the single Pokeball attached to his belt and pressed the release button downward. Beneath him, a flash of white light materialized into the form of a blue back with red wings. His Salamence roared wildly, and burst off into the distance just as David thudded against his back. He felt a pain shoot up his shoulder, but ignored it, adrenaline giving him a thin high. "ALRIGHT! LET'S GO, SALAMENCE! OFF TO VIOLET CITY!"_

Of course, it was a way overly dramatic exit for what ended up happening. He was currently on his way out of Violet. Turned out the Avrich boy had gotten attacked by a Gastly and was now in the hospital. Figured. He wasn't going to attack incapacitated prey. It lacked the adrenaline high that he needed. It lacked the thrill of the capture.

To see the fear on the face of his victim was one of his most pleasant memories. He had quite the book of them. Girls, Boys, men and women, old ladies and old men, black, white, so many different groups of people that had eventually died by his hand.

He grinned devilishly. "I'll get you soon, Christopher Avrich."

* * *

'_Surprised?' _Gastly asked. '_I don't know why that man gave me to you of all people. Of course I'm surprised too. But I suppose I can't say I'm not pleased.'_

An image of the girl appeared in his mind's eye, winking. '_After all, I suppose I can learn something from you, if you managed to beat me.'_

Chris could tell this was all a lie. She was trying to get on his good side, make him let his guard down so she could snatch him again and finish the job she had started. He smiled slyly.

"I'm going to release you the moment I get out of this hospital..."

_'Now why would we do that?'_ Gastly asked. The mouth on the darker purple orb in the center of her light purple gaseous form turned into a frown.

"Why wouldn't I? You tried to kill me!" Chris cried, then shushed himself. It was late. Three o'clock in the morning to be exact. He wasn't supposed to be awake, and was having this conversation with Gastly behind close curtains, the button to call for the nurses clenched in his hand as a just-in-case.

_'That was before I knew just what interesting company you were,' _Gastly said. She moved close to him, her tongue going out and licking him, almost affectionately. _'...Salty- I mean, I'd rather die now than try and kill you again! I've learned my lesson, trainer...'_

Chris nearly gagged. "Really. Tell me the truth."

Gastly looked at him, then bobbed up and down, apparently the closest thing to nodding she could manage. _'Fine. In the Sprout Tower, it's considered an insult to be captured... It's either stay with you or I _may as well _die.'_

"And who's 'ta say I don't want you to just die?" Chris asked.

Gastly smiled, her two canines flashing devilishly. _'Gastly are renowned for psychic abilities. I know you don't.'_

"_...Damn it."_

So that was how Christopher Avrich ended up getting stuck in an alliance with the very thing that had tried to kill him.

"...Well this is just perfect," he thought.

_'Isn't it?'_

* * *

Chris was released with instructions to take it slow and careful three weeks later. He had to take some sort of stupid medication thrice a day as well. But it mattered not to him – he could get on with his journey this way.

The only thing about it was that for a while, it would be alone.

Joey had gone on without him. It was understandable. The kid had gotten all the way to Azalea Town, even winning against Falkner with Rats and some "other help" he hadn't elaborated on. He had just gotten off the Pokegear phone function with him, and Joey had promised to stay in Azalea and wait for him.

Chris would hurry the best he could manage. But he was definitely going to take a mad dash toward one thing: challenging the Violet City Gym. He stood in front of it now, Bosca by his side.

"Alright, gal – ya ready?" he asked. "These're Flyin' types we're gonna be facing. I doubt you're gonna like 'em. But I want'cha to try to your best against them, okay?"

"Mish!" Bosca cried happily.

"Good. Let's go."

Chris pushed forward through the doors of the gym dutifully, but was met with the sight of something that confused the heck out of him. The place was entirely empty. It looked like an abandoned, empty warehouse. He stepped inside further, examining the place. The wooden flooring seemed to be wet, but in patches. He looked up to see if there were any glaringly obvious holes in the roof, only to slap his palm against his face.

The "wet spots" were not wet at all. They were shadows of the massive platform parts hanging above him. His only problem now was figuring out how to get up there. He stood there for a few moments, pondering this perilous predicament before suddenly screaming in surprise. A voice spoke up behind them.

"**HELLO. I AM PIDGEBOT MODEL III. CHALLENGER OR VISITOR?**"

"OH MY GOD WHAT THE- … oh. It's an assistancebot!" Chris realized. "Challenger. Name is Christopher Avrich."

"**UNDERSTOOD. INFORMING LEADER AVERY.**"

Chris and Bosca were left waiting for quite a few minutes, before they were finally knocked flat on their backs, the section of floor they were on bursting out of the floor and becoming a platform instead. After about ten seconds of traveling upward, it stopped and tipped ever so slightly, knocking them onto the floor of one of the platforms above. Then it went down again, but only slightly.

They were left in an area that made Chris gape in awe. The sheer force of the room had simply blown him away. He saw that it was a square-shaped platform if you looked it from below: but it was broken up into many tiny squares, he knew now. Each one had a distance of at least four feet in between; many of them five or six. The platforms were large enough for one person to stand on, with the exclusion of two of them. Two of them were large enough so that a battle could be held. Chris grinned. Gym Trainers.

Pidgebot III flew up next to him. "**THE OBJECTIVE OF THE VIOLET CITY GYM IS TO TEST A PERSON AND ONE POKEMON'S DEXTERITY AND JUMPING SKILL. THE POKEMON USED IS THE ONE THAT WILL BE BATTLING. YOU ARE NOW STANDING AT THE BACK OF THE GYM. YOU MUST CROSS TO ITS FRONT, WHERE LEADER FALKNER AVERY AWAITS. JUMP ACROSS THE PLATFORMS. SOME HAVE HOOKS ABOVE TO GRAB ONTO AND FINISH THE DISTANCE. OTHERS HAVE NONE. TO GET THROUGH, BOTH GYM TRAINERS MUST BE BEATEN AS WELL. SAFETY PADS ARE PLACED ON SOME OF THE LOWER RIDING PLATFORMS – YOU WILL NOT BE INJURED IN THIS CHALLENGE. TO GET UP IF YOU FALL, PRESS THE BUTTON IN THE CENTER OF THE PLATFORM YOU FALL ONTO, AND YOU WILL BE RAISED TO THE PLATFORM YOU JUMPED OFF OF. ARE THE RULES UNDERSTOOD? OPTIONS: YES/NO. IF NO, WILL BE REPEATED.**"

"No thanks, I-"

"**THE OBJECTIVE-**"

Chris cursed. "That's enough, Pidgebot!"

"**SHUTTING DOWN. CALL 'PIDGEBOT MODEL III' TO RETURN.**"

The mechanical Pidgey burst off toward the other end of the gym.

Chris wondered now just exactly what to do. The bot had said that the Pokemon used in the jumping part of the gym would have to be used in the battling portion as well. Bosca's legs were short. And the end result of a short-legged jumper were never quite good.

He sighed, kneeling down. "Sorry, gal. I'm gonna have to ask you to get back... seems we aren't gonna be able to do this together."

He pulled her Pokeball out of his pocket, and returned her. He then clipped the other Pokeball from his belt, releasing the Pokemon inside.

'_Oh my, my, my. Hello there, trainer...' _Gastly purred.

"Ghos," he said, referring to her by the nickname she had asked to receive. "We're fighting-"

_'The Violet City Gym. Of course. I'll be waiting for you above the first trainerrrr._'

Chris sighed, watching Ghos dart off, hovering above the head of the first trainer. He seemed to be speaking: conversing casually with the ghost that just rolled up on him. Wonderful.

Chris managed the first few leaps with ease. The last one before the first trainer platform, however, gave him a bit of a problem. It was one of the mentioned ones with the hook to it. As Chris barreled through the air, he grabbed onto the hook, his momentum pushing the hook forward a bit too. He used this to pull himself as high in the air as possible, then he let go. Idiotic mistake. He made it: but he came sprawling down at the trainer's feet, hitting the ground with a thick _thud._

He lost consciousness right then and there.

He came to not even two or three minutes later. It was a short-lived knock-out, but it was still a knock-out. He groaned, sitting up.

He came within a few inches of the nose of a blue-haired man, his bangs coming down to cover his eyes. He was dressed in a sky blue shirt with over-sized sleeves, and baggy royal blue pants. The man pulled himself backward, a smile crossing his lips.

"Sleepy head's awake. Nice. Well, I'm afraid I have some news for you."

The smile faded. He pressed his hand, firm and calloused against Chris's hair, ruffling it slightly. "That ol' noggin of yours is probably damaged a little. Probably a concussion. And you've probably got a fracture in your arm. You landed on it hard."

Chris felt the pain shoot up his shoulder: it didn't actually start hurting until he realized that it had happened. How odd.

"GOD DAMN IT!" he shouted. His world went gray and fuzzy for a moment, and for a few more following, before he focused in again. He looked at the man in front of him, noticing his concern.

"Aye, aye... you okay, buddy?" he asked. "I'm gonna go ahead and call for an ambulance... I'm -so- sorry that this happened. It never has before... you just had... one hell of a bout of bad luck there."

"...I tend to have those, 'buddy'," Chris muttered.

But the man who had diagnosed him was quite right, and Chris had a concussion and had to get his arm set up in a sling.

And this was how he ended up getting to fight Falkner, who was the man who had diagnosed him with the blue obsession, without having to fight his gym trainers and with approval to use both Bosca and Ghos. All with a dizzy head and a broken arm.

Funny how luck worked sometimes.

* * *

Next chapter:

**Handicapped Trainer versus the Winged Master of Violet! Flying works so much better without a broken wing.**


	9. Flying is Easier without a broken wing

**best laid plans**

_Sometimes you think that you know someone, and then they go and surprise you with another twist in this big ol' board game called life. Sometimes, you don't think you know someone well, and they STILL surprise you with a twist._

_Really, you never know what people are gonna do. You can study human behavior, become one of those behavioral analyst guys, and still there's always gonna be someone who's gonna throw you that god damned curve ball._

_All this? Kind of includes yourself. Your own personality._

_You never know what you'll do in the spur of the moment._

* * *

**Chapter 9: **It's easier to fly with no broken wings

Chris was quite interested at his predicament; it was almost amusing, in fact. He stood in a track right outside Violet General Hospital used for Physical Therapy (which Chris was starting soon), in a hospital gown pinched closed in the back by a pin, one arm hung in a sling. Across from him, the blue-eyed, blue-haired and blue-clothed man called Falkner stood in a ready position, Pokeball held firmly in hand.

One of the gym trainers was holding Chris's. One in each hand, the identities of which had been identified to the gym trainer, but not to Falkner, as to not break any advantages normal trainers had.

"So, let me get this straight one last time," Falkner said. "You-"

"...will not sue, just as long as you stop asking if I'll sue. One more time..." Chris sighed. The question had gotten rather annoying – he wondered if he SHOULD sue for mental distress upon being asked four million, six hundred ninety-five thousand, two hundred and thirty nine times if he was going to sue the gym.

"Good," Falkner continued. "Because-"

*"The gym can't handle any money losses. Damn budget cuts. YeS, I GeT IT ALReADY!" Chris cried.

"...Right. Well, ref," he said, glancing toward the second gym trainer. "Start us off whenever!"

The referee responded in his gruff voice, nodding, "Five... four..."

Chris was nervous. This was his first major battle of the gym circuit – he had gotten to fight a major member of possibly Team Rocket, yet not even he had made Chris this anxious. He shut his eyes tight, hearing the countdown begin.

"Three... two..."

Chris prepared himself mentally. Gym Battling wasn't a sport for the weak-minded. It was for those who were sure of themselves, who knew that they could become champions.

Too bad Chris didn't feel that way.

"One... GO!"

"Left!" Chris yelled.

Two Pokeballs were thrown, each opening and throwing out flashes of white light. Out of Chris's, Bosca materialized, taking the closest thing to a battle-ready stance Chris imagined possible for her. Out of Falkner's, a magnificent brown bird appeared, flapping its wings, the feathery plumage adorned on its head like a headband twisting slightly in the breeze it was creating. It had a tan belly, which was rather defined and muscley for a Pokemon, giving Chris the idea that this thing was trained with insane amounts of skill. The thought made him shudder with anticipation.

"Pidgeotto," Falkner said. "My best Pokemon! For newbies like you anyway. I... actually don't recognize yours."

"She's called a Shroomish! From Hoenn," Chris said proudly: or, at least, the most proud tone of voice his nervous mind could muster. "Named Bosca!"

"I see... well, then! Let's start this off! Your move first, newbie!"

"Bosca!" Chris exclaimed. "Use... uhm... _shit_, I don't know many of her moves..."

Falkner slapped a palm against his face.

Ten minutes later, Pidgebot Model III was in the air beside Chris. Turned out that the annoying little robot served a purpose after all; it served as a makeshift Pokedex, displaying "STAT", a reading of the body's muscle and energy, giving off estimates of their ability; "HP"; a calculation of damage to the body, combined with "DeF" and "" on the "STAT" screen, displayed as a numeral reading, and "MOVeS", which was... well, a display of the moves a Pokemon knew. Bosca knew a small variety, mostly status-inducers like Stun Spore and Headbutt (which sometimes winded the opponent, giving a short window of opportunity; Chris counted that as a "status" condition). Chris only saw one problem: how was he going to hit the Pidgeotto? It was a flying type, which made it easy for it to get into the air, while Bosca, with her short legs, could barely get four inches off the dirt.

It was going to be a toughy, and Chris wasn't sure he could do it. But he WAS sure he wasn't going to pull back now.

Suddenly, he was broken out of his train of thought by Falkner's voice, impatience evident in it. "Well, are you gonna make a move or what?"

"Oh... uhm, Tackle, Bosca!"

Bosca ran forward with the mightiest spring Chris had ever seen. She felt her trainer's anxiousness, he thought, and thought it was best to try her hardest. He let out a howl of encouragement, watching as she leaped into the air and slammed herself toward Pidgeotto's body: missing completely, skidding to the ground with a surprised cry.

"Bosca! Crap, good try, gal!"

"Bad choice of Pokemon," Falkner mused. "Pidgeotto, use Dirty Gust!"

Pidgeotto simply moved close to Bosca, flapping his wings furiously and creating a twister of wind, which picked up twigs and leaves on the ground, going so far as to pick up specks of dirt as well: then an entire chunk of the stuff, and before long, the force of the wind had degraded it into small pieces. It moved toward Bosca, who in-turn got to her feet and began to rush out of the way.

The "Dirty Gust" attack followed.

"Dirty Gust is my Pidgeotto's signature move! It's infused with some of his energy, and can be controlled by him at will! Until it hits something, it will not stop! And guess what? It hurts and can temporarily blind the opponent: it's a mix of the moves Gust and Mud Slap!" Falkner grinned from ear to ear. "You folk are purely secular! Worldly! The greatest gift God has given man is the sight of birds! I have made it my life's goal to show the world the GLORY OF WINGS!"

Bosca got hit. She cried out in pain, chunks of mud flying into her eyes, pelting her skin. The wind picked her up and slammed her into a tree, and she fell down, her entire body shaking ever-so-slightly with the combination of heavy breathing and hurt.

Chris scowled. He felt the mental pressure weigh down on him like an anvil on each individual shoulder. How the hell was he going to win this?

* * *

Joey Collins couldn't help but smile. So this would be the fix to his problem: it had just nodded its approval not even two or three seconds ago, its gruff visage plastered with a smile.

One, it would kill time. He was waiting here in Azalea for Chris, and he had a feeling it would be a while before he got here. Two, well... with this newly built relationship, he hoped that he, Rats and Lucky could get the job done: the job being defeating him.

* * *

"Bosca! C'mere!" Chris yelled, motioning for Bosca to come close to him.

She did, scrambling over. He saw the odd purple blood oozing from the scratches over her body. He did not touch her solely for this reason: he wanted to hug her close and not let go. With his one good arm, of course.

"Listen, gal," he said. "I understand if you want to give up. This is tough for a Grass-type like yourself, and I know that ghost-type moves don't affect normal Pokemon... like Pidgeotto."

Of course, he had only learned this recently when he did some research on Gastly and their natural abilities, as well as Typology. Hospital Libraries were one thing he was thankful for. "We can always come back when we have someone on our team who can handle-..."

Bosca shook her body in a furious "no".

Chris smiled ever-so-slightly, and nodded to her. He whispered something down to her, before crying out, "Alright, then! TRY US, Falkner! Flyin' ain't anything – see how the ground fights against the sky, and be amazed! Bosca, Tackle Again!"

Bosca ran toward the Pidgeotto with the same gusto as before, but stopped right in front of him. She stuck her tongue out, taunting him, hopping from foot to foot in a mock dance. Pidgeotto was not pleased by this – far from it. He whipped his wings, creating another gust (thankfully without the mud this time), sending it toward Bosca, who realized it wasn't a homing one like the previous and ran to get out of the way.

"That's your glory, newbie?" Falkner scoffed. "Pidgeotto! Finish it off with an Aerial Ace!"

It was a flash. A simple flash of movement was all it took to strike Bosca down, a small gash across her stomach, bleeding slowly. That purple, oozing blood. Chris let his head fall. His plan... ruined just like that.

It was up to Ghos, and Ghos couldn't do a damn thing.

"Return Bosca!" Chris yelled, and the supporting trainer obeyed. "Send out the other! Ghos!"

Ghos was out in the next few seconds, floating up next to him. Chris sighed, stepping to the side slightly, a bit concerned about being close to that damned poisonous gas.

The referee cried out, "Battle: Gastly versus Pidgeotto! Start NOW!"

"Pidgeotto, use Dirty Gust!"

Pidgeotto formed another miniature twister, mud picking up and combining with twigs and leaves, tinting it brown. It rushed forward. Ghos moved out of the way, but Pidgeotto twisted it in turn to Ghos' movement. Ghos moved again, leaving behind a thin trail of purple, but Pidgeotto twisted it once again.

Ghos caught on quick, rushing right at Pidgeotto. Pidgeotto moved it to follow Ghos, and got caught right in his own attack as Ghos phased right through him and continued on. A howl of surprise escaped an open beak, mud flying into the bird's eyes, twigs and smaller chunks of dirt cutting and bruising through his feathers.

Falkner cursed loudly, then covered his mouth, as if embarrassed by his mistake. Chris was happy to see some damage done to the opponent, but he knew Falkner or Pidgeotto wouldn't be stupid enough to try those tactics. They hadn't risen to the titles of Gym Leader and his Pokemon respectively off of sheer, dumb luck.

He motioned for Ghos to come close, and with a begrudging look in her wide, white eyes she obeyed.

"I need you to tell me what you can do, Ghos. This is desperate."

Ghos looked at him, her mouth open, canines brandished frighteningly. _'I can kill...'_

"Besides that! I mean to win me this battle legally!" Chris chided.

_'Fine, fine... nothing that will effect that bird over there... well, there is...'_

There was something. Chris didn't care what it was. It could win this battle, and he could get Bosca's pain avenged. He smiled devilishly. "Use it, then!"

_'Are you sure, because-'_

"Yes, I'm sure!" Chris cried.

Ghos bobbed up and down mid-air, her form of a nod. She floated over in front of Pidgeotto, who had regained his wits by now. Ghos' wide eyes fell shut, and suddenly, Chris saw something that he wouldn't forget, not even years later.

His eyes widened.

Out of blue energy, a gigantic nail formed mid-air. Falkner looked at the same spot, but seemed unable to see it. Chris had a feeling that Ghos was allowing him to see this. The energy-nail pushed forward, running through the Pidgeotto's chest, and right through Ghos' forehead. The blood that ran from Pidgeotto's unharmed chest was the brightest shade of red Chris had ever seen: and the pained cry that came from Pidgeotto's beak was the most sincere he had ever heard.

Falkner seemed shocked. "W-...what is this? What happened? Pidgeotto, are you okay?"

Pidgeotto barely managed to stay afloat. Ghos bobbed slightly, a bloody, dark hole in her forehead, oozing red liquid alongside a steady flow of purple gas.

_'It's called C-...curse,'_ Ghos projected, allowing Falkner to hear too, judging by the fact that he moved his eyes to her. '_Your bloody bird will faint soon. It's not going to kill, and it'll go away soon... but it's painful. Basically torture. Blame Cadet "HURRY UP AND USE IT!" over there.'_

Falkner projected to Chris one of the most _hateful _looks he had ever seen. He reached in his pocket and pulled something out, narrowing his eyes at it, then tossed it to Chris. Chris saw it fall to the ground a couple feet in front of him, but payed more attention to Falkner returning his Pidgeotto and bolting off. He assumed toward a Pokemon Center, where Pidgeotto could suffer in peace.

The referee simply said, "Challenger Wins!", before running off to join his leader. Only the one who held his two Pokeballs remained with him, walking to where whatever Falkner had thrown rested. He picked it up, walked over to Chris and handed him one of his Pokeballs. Chris tucked it under his arm. Then he took the other from him, returning Ghos. Finally, the Gym Trainer grabbed his hospital gown, almost purposefully tugging on it hard Chris realized, jiggling his arm around a little. He pinned something to it, then walked off.

Chris looked at it. It was a small, light blue badge, shaped like a pair of wings. Chris sighed. He had won the badge. But at what cost? His reputation? His conscience? His virtues?

In that moment, Christopher Avrich hated Ghos. Almost as much as he hated himself.


	10. learning to fly i ain't got wings

**Author's Note: **quick note. the chapter title here is a small section of lyrics, taken from the song "Learning to Fly" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.

b e s t l a i d p l a n s

_I have some simple advice for you guys today. No matter what, you can always face any adversity with the right attitude.I kind of wish I would have followed that. I didn't know the kid that well, but... he was a friend. One of the few my quirky personality ever really made.I miss him._

_I really do._

**Chapter 10: **Learning to Fly; and I ain't got wings... coming down is the hardest thing

"Falkner, I said I'm sorry! I- I didn't know... Ghos..."

"I know. I forgive you."

Christopher Avrich heard the words come out in that harsh, unforgiving tone and he knew immediately they weren't true. he wanted to believe them, but he couldn't, not for the life of him. And Falkner wasn't helping, stomping away from him.

Chris followed. They moved all the way to the gym in silence, before Falkner turned around and stared him in the eyes. He ut his hands on his shoulders, and Chris flinched as he came down hard on his injured arm. This goddamn thing would never heal at this rate.

"What's your name, newbie? I never got it."

"Chris.. Chris Avrich," he responded. He somewhat wanted to shrink back, run away and go back to New Bark, living out the rest of his life in shame... but he wasn't going to now. just because he wanted to didn't mean he could.

"C'mon inside, Chris."

The wo walked inside, and stoped in the shadowy spots of the gym. Falkner looked at Chris dead in the eyes again and spoke slowly, carefully, with just enough anger lingering in his calm voice that Chris shuddered. "Cris Avric, wat interests you about Pokemon Training?"

Silence quivered through the air, as Chris thought about that question. He thought and thought, thought some more and then thought even more. He had never thought so hard in his life. But after all that thought, his mind came up blank. "Because it seemed interesting. Because I thought it would be fun."

Falkner scoffed, shut his eyes and frowned. "Bland. Typical. I can feel it. It's deeper than that, and you know it."

Cris cocked an eyebrow. He thought it was a satisfactory answer. He didn't even know the point of this questioning, because he had just come to make sure Falkner knew he was sorry for the pain he had caused his Pidgeotto. What was the point of it? "Because... I, uh, like Bosca, I guess. And it seemed a good way to bond."

Falkner shook his head. "Then why not coordinate? Become a breeder? Just travel the land, or just _stay at home?_" Falkner opened his eyes and looked toward the platforms near the ceiling. "Anything can be done to bond with Pokemon. Fine. If that's your answer, I'm heading up. I don't care about your broken arm. If you want me to really believe your apology, and if you really want me to believe your reasoning, come u and find me at the end of the puzzle. no battles. Just you and Bosca traveling the gaps."

Chris looked up and felt his heart beat faster than he felt comfortable. Was it really a good idea? He had screwed with this whole idea before. But to try it again? With a broken arm, at that? He could hurt himself severely, be in a hospital for quite a few more weeks... and this wasn't even thinking about Bosca.

He stepped back, looked at Falkner and let a shaky grin cross his lips. "Sure."

* * *

Joey Collins looked out onto the lake in front of him, seeing the shadow of the man behind him and finding himself wondering how much longer he had left. He knew from the look on the man's face that he had come to kill him: even his nine year old mind could decipher such enigmatic eyes with the help of adrenaline.

"Hello, Joseph Collins." Cold metal was pressed against the back of his head. The force of the metallic shaft was soft- any steady pushes, and Joey would go off the bridge. So he did not intend to do it quite yet, Joey deduced."Hi. Who are you?" Joey asked slowly. He had once heard raw terror was paralyzing: he knew it now to be untrue. Perhaps it was for some individuals, but not for him. It motivated his mind to move, his muscles to think. He wanted to take action, but he knew it would kill him.

"My name? David," the man said.

"Hasselhoff?" Joey asked.

"Ha!" From the reflection in the water, Joey could barely see the smile cross his lips. His breath was rotten. "Jokester, huh? I like that in a kid."  
"Bad breath like that can definitely give someone the motivation," Joey said. "How often you brush your teeth?"

He heard a small click, and a push of air. His body went rigid for a moment, preparing for the impact of the bullet- but it never came.

"I like games, Joseph. Do you?"

Joey replied in a hushed whisper, "Not the type of games you're talking about."

"Russian Roulette is pretty fun, in my opinon." A thin crackle, then another click and a pulse of air. No bullet in that chamber, Joey thought.

"How about you play it yourself, instead of on me?" Joey asked.  
"But that would be nowhere near as fun," David replied.

"What do you want?"

"Christopher Avrich."

Joey's heart skipped a beat. "Why are you here with me, then?"

"Because Christopher Avrich is a klutz," David mused. "If I don't give him... a bit of motivation, he'll never stop injuring himself. And of course, injured prey doesn't give a man half the thrill."  
_  
Click, click, poof_.

"What did Chris do?"

"He decided to mess with the wrong person," David replied. "Adrian Russo, if you must be exact."

"Maybe, just maybe, Adrian can take that debt himself," Joey whispered.

Click, click-_ poof_.

"Adrian Russo is weak, but his connections are wonderful. So, guess what, Joseph Taylor Collins? Christopher Lawrence Avrich..."  
_  
Click.  
_  
"...will soon be a dead man."

**Click, BLAM.**

And with the loud sound of the gunshot, Joey Collins felt a large pulsation of panic and pain, before he felt no longer.

David Miller took a short glance at the corpse falling into the water. The back of his head was blown wide open, brain matter splattered across David's red shirt. He offered the corpse a quick salute, before leaping into the water and swimming up beside it. He would bring it up onto shore with some degree of difficulty, then remove something from his soaked pocket. He placed the badge on the back of the boy's neon green shirt, then removed his own. He was somewhat glad Azalea Town laws permitted men walking around shirtless. He tossed the bloodied thing into the water, pocketed his silenced pistol and before he could be seen, walked off, whistling casually and wearing a devilish smile on his face.

* * *

Christopher Avrich felt an odd sense of sadness move through his body, but ignored it. He could not afford to be distracted right now, with Bosca hanging limply from his pants leg, teeth clenched in order to hold her position; his own hand held up on the final rail, supporting himself and Bosca's weight the best he could. Final rail, he thought to himself- he swung his legs forward, hoping Bosca could hold on, trying to gain momentum, and the plan worked. With one last grunt, he let himself go loose and land roughly on the last platform, tumbling down to the ground and onto his arm. He cried out in pain, and the disorienting sensation nearly blacked him out. But a hand on his good shoulder shook him out of this trancelike state, and he looked up to see it- a firm face, blue strands of hair hiding his eyes. He stood up, and Chris followed suite. He recgonized him vaguely as Falkner.

"...I-...I made it," he muttered.

"You did. I'm impressed. So, Mister Avrich, I have a proposition for you."

"What would that be...?"

"You have th e brave spirit of a Pidgeot, and the heart of a golden-feathered Fearow. You genuinely care for Pokemon, it seems," Falkner said. A smile crossed his lips. "Any old trainer would use the move and while probably feeling guilty, just go along their way. You came to apologize and make sure that I knew you were genuine. I now know you are."

Chris allowed a weak smile tocross his lips, still dizzy from the pain of the fall. "Okay, but what does that have to do with a proposition?"

"I'd like to try and help you become stronger. There were many flaws in your fight- many of which I think I can help you perfect. What do you say, Chris?"

Chris thought about it for a moment, then let his grin grow wider. His neck moved- from side to side, disapproving. "...I gotta admit I'm kinda honored. Not every day a kid from a small town like me gets an offer like this, huh?" Chris laughed softly. "...But no thanks. Gettin' strong's my own goal- me, Bosca, and possibly even Ghos will do it together."

Falkner stared at him for a little while. Chris supposed he had not expected the denial. Finally, Falkner opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a steady ringing. Chris let his good arm slip into his pocket to see a call from- Joey's number. Huh.

"Sorry, Falkner, can I take this?"

"...R-...right. Sure."

Chris nodded and said his thanks before turning around and pressing his Pokegear to his ear."Hello?"

It was a voice he didn't quite recognize. "Is this Christopher Lawrence Avrich?"

"...Uh, yes," Chris responded.

"Give me proof. Your mother's name and your home town."

"...Who is this?"

"Do it," the voice said. It was stern and forceful, slightly intimidating Chris.

"...Elizabeth, and New Bark Town."

A slight pause, and a soft laugh. It sent shivers down Chris's spine."Hello, Chris. Do you like games?"

"...Who is this?"

"I like games, Chris. I played one with your friend Joey," the voice said, sinister tones leaking from his voice. Chris's heart skipped a beat.

"Oh? And... h-how did it go?"

"He lost, I'm afraid to say. Russian Roulette is a rather... dangerous game, wouldn't you think?"

Chris knew, then. He knew all too well what was going on, and anger quickly flowed through his mind. "Who are you? What have you done with Joey?"

"Messing with Team Rocket doesn't tend to end well, Chris," the voice responded.

"I never-...the boy! Why... why I oughta..."

Adrenaline flowed through his veins like he had never felt it before. His anger could only rise to a certain point before it blew."The Azalea Town Police Department probably had a call recently, Christopher Avrich. It was a call reporting the body of a nine-year-old, his precious Rattata's Pokeball floating next to him. More than likely drowned. The boy..." A small pause, the sickening sound of the man's breath increasing in pace. "Well, the boy was shot in the back of the head. No DNA on the body, either. Pretty unsolvable case- but guess what, Chris?"

Chris clenched his fist around his Pokegear, and heard a question come from Falkner- but it was all a blur to him. He did not respond to the man.

"I can give you the culprit. It was me. Joseph Taylor Collins was murdered, not even an hour ago, by a sir David Miller, hired assassin of Team Rocket. You are to heal up, then come find me. If any mention of this goes out to the authorities, I will go after your mother, next. Understood, Chris?"

"...Fuck you," Chris whispered.

"Oh, but that will be hard for a dead man to do, won't it? I'll be waiting for you in Goldenrod City."

click.

Christopher Avrich threw his Pokegear down to the ground, hearing a small crack, but drowning it out in his own sad, angry scream. Bosca ran over to his side to see what was wrong, but he ignored her- and Falkner's worried tone was a monotonous, mechanical and nonsensical jumble of sounds. All Christopher Avrich knew was that Joey Collins was dead. A mother would be without her son, and the world without a precious life- and most of all, the most unbearable of all, he knew that it was all _his fault._


	11. Versus David Part 1: Unexpected Partner

best laid plans

_It's a sad, sad thing when the first funeral you ever attend is the funeral of one of your friends. It's worse, when you think it's all because of you. Joey Collins was a good kid. He was taken from us so many years too early._

But the hardest part is the grief. Because when the funeral is over, you still walk around with the weight on your shoulders, constantly pressing down on you, eating away at your mind until you finally just... let it go.

But I could not do that. I could not let it go. Not until I got to face the man who did it, and I got to take his life too. I wanted to kill him, I have to admit. I wanted to hurt him for hurting me like he did.

**Chapter 11:** Vs. David Part I: Unexpected Partnership

"As a family friend to the Collins's, it hurts me dearly to have to do this," the man said, his voice nearly hidden by the solemn music playing in the background. "But I have learned that three days ago, on Tuesday, May the twenty-third, the world suffered a great tragedy. Joseph Taylor Collins, just nine years old, was taken from us."

Chris wondered if anything would ever go right. The world was a screwed up place, and it was growing screwier around him, constantly pushing objects in his path. He blocked out the words of the minister, not wanting to hear them, not wanting to be here - but he supposed if he did not want to be here, he would not have come.

He was sitting alone in a pew, far in the back, dressed in a sharp black tuxedo, his arm up in a sling, his eyes down on the ground and unmoving. If he looked up, he was afraid he was going to scream - that he was going to cry, that he was going to do something incredibly stupid or just get up and leave. The people around him were of similar mindset: and the sound of a sobbing mother absolutely murdered Chris when he heard it.

"...A joyous personality, mixed in with hints of ferocity and compassionate loving toward all the people around him. He was a wonderful person, shaping up to be an amazing, awe-inspiring man, but God decided it was his time. We can rest well knowing that Joey is resting in Heaven now, and know- that he wouldn't want us to be upset."

Chris let his eyes move up to the ceiling, staring through the blurry mess of his eyes and letting a smile cross his lips, weak and shaky. If what the man was saying was true, he hoped Joey would forgive him. Because he was upset, and he did not know when the upset mood would end- if it ever would.

* * *

Two weeks later, Christopher Avrich sat down on a rock on the side of the road, taking a short rest. He was back in his old attire- light blue windbreaker, a black shirt underneath, and equally blue shorts, tennis shoes covering his feet.

"Bosca, how you holdin' up?" he asked.

"Mish," Bosca said flatly. He assumed she was pretty tired too- not a bad idea to have a little rest, then. While here, he began to think.

What was he going to do? He definitely could not report this to the police. It could mean his mother's life, which he was not going to let happen. He knew no one who could possibly be skilled enough to help him out with this- Falkner was good, but Pokemon could not stand up too well to a bullet. If this guy was a gun user and not a trainer, he really did not think he had a chance.

He was scared for his life, but his anger led him on in his march toward Goldenrod City- he was cutting past Violet, going west and then south, which was a sure-fire way to get there within a couple of days. When he got there, he did not know what he was going to do.

He might try and fight, but he was definitely going to have to utilize the power of Pokemon. He hated to put Bosca in danger like that, and even Ghos would probably be weak to a pressurized burst like that of a gun's- his two Pokemon could very well die, and he would probably join them.

He looked down at Bosca, who seemed to be feeling his anxiety, as she was nudging against his good hand. He smiled apologetically, rubbing her on her head.

"Sorry, gal," he said. "Just got a lot on my mind. Come on, let's go."

* * *

Christopher Avrich had once heard that adrenaline was a force to be reckoned with. He walked along the side of the road, looking at the towering buildings in front of him and hoped this was true - because adrenaline was overtaking him, running him over and nearly pinning him to the ground solely out of its weight.

He had spent another week, roughly, because of his injured arm, to get to Goldenrod. But he was drawing in close, and it seemed to be getting harder and harder to make each step. But here he was, marching against himself- marching toward what destiny wanted for him. If it was to get him up to Heaven early, so be it.

* * *

Five weeks later, Chris was living in paranoia. A regular stay at the Pokemon Center, and hotels if there was no room, he had taken to pretty much calling Goldenrod his temporary home. Though his fear kept him in a relatively quiet, inconspicuous one, he had even developed a routine- for the first three weeks, he had gotten up in the mornings, gone for a walk in National Park (sometimes with Bosca [and Ghos, even] following, sometimes without), gotten to the center, eaten breakfast, then spending the rest of the day on the computers of the center, only taking breaks to use the restroom, eat, or go to sleep for that night. What he did online varied: sometimes he browsed sites on Pokemon, sometimes he got on chatrooms, and on occasion he visited an online "teach yourself defense" site.

Three weeks in, though, his doctor from Violet called, and told Chris to go to the nearest hospital and find a Dr. Gobriel, who would remove his cast and start him up on a physical therapy regimen. So the PT occurred daily after the walk, and for a week after that, the continued net access dragged on - but when that week was up, Chris decided to spend some time down in the weight room of the Pokemon Center, to build up muscle.

For when he would need to fight, he thought grimly, on this particular day. He hated David Milwood, because not only did he murder a kid like Joey in cold blood - but honestly, Chris hated him for making him wait. Day after day, he went to sleep wondering if the next day would be his last: or, hell, if he would even wake up in the morning to know.

This particular day, Chris was on his way to the center from his PT session. He admittedly had a short break from this nerve-wracking, mind distorting fear during these sessions, simply because his coach was pretty cool, and she had the nicest set of... dumbbells, Chris had ever seen. But here it was, back in full-swing. He was pretty sure if this went on much longer, he was going to insane.

Luckily for his sanity, the waiting escapade ended as he took a short turn into an empty alleyway. Amazingly enough, with all the paranoid precautions he had taken, he had never even thought of going down quiet places alone as dangerous. He cursed himself for not doing so when he saw the man leap down from a fire escape on the wall of the apartment he was walking beside, dressed in a casual outfit- jeans, a bright red shirt surrounded by a white windbreaker, and a pair of tennis shoes. The look on his face was that of an average joe's- but the qualities were more... dastardly. A twisted grin was on his lips, his eyebrows raised, navy blue pupils focusing on Chris's face. One gloved hand was not visible, the sleeve of his windbreaker dangling.

"'sup, Chris?"

Chris's heart was beating at an uncomfortable pace, but he was used to that. But the terror that rooted him to where he was... that was the bad thing. He tried to open his mouth to speak, and succeeded- barely, his jaw moving just a bit, words coming out at a barely audible whisper.

"...'bout time."

The man pressed his one visible hand against his ear, leaning toward him, the expression in his eyes mocking Chris. "What? Can't hear ya, boy."

Chris gathered up the stones to speak up some. "...I _said_, 'bout time."

"Oh, I see. Got a little impatient, hrm?"

"Only wuh-wuh-one of us is g-g-g-guh-going tuh-to leave this c-city alive, Duh-david," Chris responded slowly, carefully, trying to prevent himself from stuttering his words - obviously failing, but at least making himself decently understandable from his efforts.

"Wuh-wuh-well, M-Muh-Mister stuh-stutter, huh-who w-would that b-b-b-buh-be?"

Chris smiled a weak, weary smile. He could not give off his typical, brave bravado - he had been worn down too much. But if there was one thing that Christopher Lawrence Avrich was, it was a fighter- and he planned on fighting until the very end.

"That... w-would be, muh-me."

And with that, David Milwood stuck his other arm out from beneath his windbreaker, revealing the revolver in his hand. A burst of laughter escaped him. "And who's the one with the gun, Chris?"

"Go ahead..." Chris said. "Shoot me. I don't c-c-care if you blow m-my h-head off, I'm stuh-still g-g-going to kuh-kuh-kuh-...kick... your..."

Chris broke into a wild smile, adrenaline rushing through his veins, bursting him up as best it could for the fight or flight response - and Chris planned to fight.

"I'm gonna kick your ass!"

David then pulled the trigger, laughing wildly.

_Click._

"The better question," a voice said from the shadows. "Is who's got the bullets, _frocio_?"

Chris was left confused, dazed and at the same time, grateful. Because he knew that this boy had just probably saved his life. He stepped forward, dressed in his signature jacket, though it was opened to reveal a green shirt beneath, and jeans. His red hair was in the way of his eyes, and a gloved hand reached up to swipe it away.

Adrian Russo was grinning from ear to ear. "I believe that would be me."

David was visibly shocked. "...Adrian! What the hell do you think you're doin'? Why, I oughta..."

Adrian lifted up his other hand, just a couple of the revolver's bullets in his hand, golden metal glistening in the sunlight above. He let them fall to the ground, and the Pokemon beside him, the canine Chris recognized as Houndour, let loose a short burst of flame, not melting the metal - but Chris pretty much assumed those things were not touchable.

Adrian threw a quick glance to Chris, and the two met eye-to-eye for a moment.

"Don't assume I'm doing this to help you!" he exclaimed. "You're just lucky Archer ordered you dead without consulting me first!"

"...Is this rebellion?" David screamed. "Just because... you little brat! So what if he didn't talk to you about it first? This little bastard can rat both of us out now! Like Hell we're going to let him live just because you need to control everything!"

"I am the boss's son! My father built the Rocket Gang up from the ground! He can't just go behind my back like that!"

"You're still a kid, you listen to his orders!-"

"_Me ne frego dei suoi ordini!_" Adrian spat. "_Figlio di puttana!_From this day on, Team Rocket's going down by my own hand!"

Chris was still a bit lost on this, but he figured he may as well join in on the fun. "C'mon, stop yer arguin'! We gotta neutralize this bastard-"

"We? Ha!" Adrian laughed. "I can deal with him all on my own. Without his gun, he is not a problem! And he can't release his Pokemon... not in the city like this! He would be insane-"

David grinned, suddenly. "Brat, I'm renowned for being insane..."

Adrian stopped his laughing, and glanced to Chris, his eyes filled with horror.

"...Boy, I think it's best that we run. _Cazzata!_"

David Milwood pulled a Pokeball off his belt, and tossed it into the air. In a flash of light, Chris heard the rumbling start, turned around and dashed off.

He heard the sound of the building they had been next to being torn up by something huge. Chris was running in its shadow- suddenly, Adrian cut left, and Chris followed. He had no idea where they were heading, but as he glanced up and saw the huge blue, red-winged dragon floating in the skies above them, hearing the wicked laughter of the assassin behind him, he did not care, just as long as he got the hell out of dodge.

* * *

So, Adrian Russo and Chris join up, and David Milwood releases his Salamence in the middle of Goldenrod City! Next chapter's gonna be fun to write.

_Adrian Russo Translations_

_frocio_: homosexual; faggot

_Me ne frego dei suoi ordini!_: "I don't give a damn about his orders!"

_Figlio di puttana!_: "Son of a b_i_tch!"

_Cazatta!_: "Bloody nonsense!"


End file.
